


Where Is My Mind

by WifeyMcWiferson



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Action/Adventure, Army, Bobby's Panic Room, Confused Dean, Dreams and Nightmares, Faeries - Freeform, Fay - Freeform, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Hallucinations, Handcuffs, Hospitals, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Insomnia, Mayhem, Medical Procedures, Missing Dean, Mystery, Panic Attacks, Protective Bobby Singer, Road Trips, Whiskey & Late Night Talks, Whump, Worried Sam
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-08-18
Updated: 2016-06-20
Packaged: 2017-12-23 21:26:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 33
Words: 151,763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/931263
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WifeyMcWiferson/pseuds/WifeyMcWiferson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Dean disappears in New Mexico and mysteriously reappears hundreds of miles away, Bobby and Sam are baffled. Before they can figure out what's happening, Dean's gone again. Something might be having a little to much fun with Dean Winchester, and the travel is taking its toll. Wanna tag along?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Long Distance Dean

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoy this, just got to toying around with this idea...I've got some plans for Dean....and I've got a mean streak.....

Small drops of brilliant light slowly fell from the sky, filling his vision. As each one touched his skin, it exploded, the sensation sending shivers through him. 

A loud noise nearby caused him to jump, but his eyes never strayed from the dark sky overhead. 

He knew he needed to get out of the rain. He knew he needed to find Sam. 

But still he lay there, unaware of how much time was passing; watching the rain drops fall, each one reflecting the moon. 

Lights, red and blue, joined in the overhead display; their colors setting the rain ablaze. 

Hands grabbed him, voices filled the air; invading the surreal moment. He wanted to tell them to shut up, to stop and watch the lights with him. Someone rolled him onto his side, sliding something under him. He felt himself being lifted from the ground; his heart skipped a beat, wondering if he could just rise into the sky, away from the ground, away from the cold. 

The sound of the ambulance door slamming shut got through to him; shaking a word loose from his lips. 

“Sam.”

“Who,” a nearby voice asked. He felt a blanket being firmly pulled around him. 

“I need Sam.”

New Mexico: 

“Dean,” Sam murmured as he rolled over and pulled the blanket over his head. His eyes opened as another round of Dean’s ‘Ace of Spades’ ringtone started again. “Dean! Answer your phone!”

When Dean didn’t answer his phone or snap at Sam to shut up, he sat up and flipped on the light. 

Dean’s bed was empty. 

Sam glanced at the bathroom door, it was closed. ‘Dammit Dean, can you stop being hung over,’ Sam thought to himself. 

With a scalding glare at the bathroom door, Sam grabbed the phone and answered. “Yeah?”

“Sam! Where the hell are you,” Bobby yelled into the phone. 

Sam started at the loud voice, wincing. “Dean and I are in New Mexico, why?”

“Are you sure about that?”

“Um—pretty damn sure Bobby. I checked us into a hotel with a giant sombrero hat as a roof about seven hours ago. Why, what’s wrong?”

The line went quiet. “Bobby?”

“Do you have your sights on Dean—right now,” Bobby asked quietly. 

“Not right this second. He went out about five hours ago to the bar to shoot pool,” Sam said, getting annoyed. “Lights on in the bathroom; think he’s sleeping one off on the floor.”

“Sam, I’m not sure what’s going on out there with you…but I’m staring at Dean right now,” Bobby said cautiously. 

Sam froze. “Not possible.”

“I’m looking at Dean—or a damn good Dean replica,” Bobby said. 

“Shifter,” Sam asked, his heart pounding in his ears. 

“Could be,” Bobby said into the phone. “I got a call from a hospital in Minnesota. They found my number on him; I figured you were with him. When you weren’t here, I knew I’d better start looking for you.”

“Bobby, it’s impossible! I’m looking at the impala right now, it’s outside of our room,” Sam stated, turning back to finding a silver knife in his duffel. 

“Doesn’t matter, no car could have gotten him from New Mexico to Minnesota in five hours,” Bobby said as he stared through the window at Dean. “What’s the plan, Sam?”

“You check your Dean. I’ll check mine. Call you back in five.”

Bobby slid his phone back in his pocket and smiled at the passing nurse. He walked into the room and quietly closed the door, reaching to pull the blinds shut. He moved to the bed and stared down at Dean. According to the nurses he hadn’t said anything since he came in, except for one word—Sam. 

Bobby watched as his eyes roll under their lids, his breathing steady. Hypothermia and confusion, too much exposure to the elements, what the doctor had said. Bobby pulled the small pocket knife out of his pocket, pulling free the silver blade he had refitted into the handle. He glanced at the door as he considered what place the nurses wouldn’t notice a cut between now and Dean’s discharge… if he was the real Dean. Bobby pulled the heavy blankets back and rolled Dean onto his side, pulling his leg free. A shallow cut behind the knee wouldn’t be noticed much. 

Bobby was placing a small bandage on the cut when his phone went off. He hurriedly replaced Dean’s blankets, worried that Dean hadn’t stirred at the cut he had received. He continued to sleep, drugged by the sheer warmth the hospital had wrapped him in. 

“He’s not here,” Sam said as soon as hear Bobby answer the phone. “Thought he was, but he’s nowhere. No sign that he ever came back to the motel room actually.”

“Well, this one isn’t a shifter. No reaction to the silver, in fact, no reaction at all,” Bobby said as he opened the door to the room and reopened the blinds. “He’s out of it, but nothing we can’t handle back at the house. I’ll do my best to get him out of here as soon as I can. Meet you back at the junk yard?”

“Be there as soon as I can,” Sam said as he crammed clothes in his duffel. “How is Dean? Has he said anything yet? How did he get—“

“Don’t get your panties in a twist, boy. He’s out of it, not talking. Not even awake,” Bobby said, trying to calm Sam down, knowing it wouldn’t do any good. “He looks alright. Nothing major. I’ll call once we’re on the road.”

Bobby frowned as he continued to stare at Dean, letting out a huge sigh. “Wake up Dean,” he grumbled. “We need answers.”


	2. Houdini Dean

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoy it! If not.....well, I can't help you ;)

Bobby drove through the morning light, his car eating up the miles between Minnesota and home. Dean remained quiet from his place on the backseat. Neither one of them had said much since Bobby had roughly awakened Dean and hustled him out of the hospital. The first question out of Dean had been to ask where Sam was, the second was him wanting to know the date. He had sat, stunned and silent, on his bed as Bobby laced his boots and argued with the nurses. 

Bobby was sure Dean hadn’t even been truly awake as he had signed his own Against Medical Advice discharge paperwork. 

Bobby frowned, worry eating at him. The doctor said Dean would be fine after some down time. He was so deep in thought that he nearly missed the sound from the backseat. 

“What was that Dean,” Bobby asked. “You awake, kid?”

“Bobby?”

“Yeah?”

“Where is Sam?”

“He’s on the way. He’ll be meeting us at my house sometime late tonight,” Bobby reminded him.

“Where are we,” Dean asked. He knew they were on the road, the feel of the car trying to lull him back to sleep. 

“Nearly out of Minnesota and back into South Dakota,” Bobby explained, concerned over Dean’s confusion. “Why? Where do you think we are?”

He heard a yawn. “What day is it?”

“Tuesday,” Bobby replied. 

Dean didn’t reply right away. “Tuesday…what’s the date?”

Bobby swerved onto the off ramp, heading for the truck stop. He needed coffee and answers. After the engine cut out, he turned and stared down at Dean, laying on the backseat. His face was pale, stubbly. “Dean, son, just humor me. Where do you think we are?”

Dean squirmed under Bobby’s gaze. “You already said we were—“

“No. Not where I told you we are; where do you think we are?”

Dean shrugged and sat up, gazing around. 

“Alright, what day do you think it is?”

“Tuesday.”

Bobby glared at Dean. “Smartass. Date?”

Dean looked uncertain. “June something.”

Bobby didn’t let his concern show through, it was May. He’d call Sam. “I’m gonna grab a coffee. Stay put.”

“We’re in the middle of nowhere. Where am I gonna go, Bobby?”

“That’s exactly what I’m worried about.”

Bobby hurried into the store, paying for gas and coffee. 

As he climbed back into the car, he glanced over the seat and froze. Dean was gone. 

Bobby looked frantically around the parking lot, but he couldn’t see Dean anywhere. He ran back into the gas station, checked the bathrooms and adjacent diner, still no sign of Dean. He asked everyone around, but no one had seen Dean get out of the car. He was about to call Sam when he saw a cop car race past the gas station, lights blazing. He raced to his car without thinking. Dean had only been missing for a few minutes, he couldn’t have gotten far. Bobby found the cop car, three miles away in a small city park. 

Bobby grabbed a fake badge and headed for the cop, who was talking to a fearful looking young woman. Bobby could see Dean in the backseat of the cop car, looking confused. The cop glanced at Bobby’s badge and filled him in. “This woman said she was out for a morning run, nearly fell right over him, scared her to death. He was talking nonsense and unable to get up on his own. I’m guessing drunk.”

Bobby cleared his throat, making the young man look at him. “Actually, I’m here to arrest him for arson in South Dakota. You mind letting me take him from here?”

The young man hesitated but nodded. “Sure, why not? Save me some paperwork.” 

Bobby led Dean, handcuffed, to his car. With a nod to the cop, he headed back to the interstate. Bobby pulled over before the on ramp. 

“Dean, you with me,” Bobby asked loudly. 

Dean didn’t answer him. He was mumbling, his eyes moving every which way, his hands moving incessantly. “Dean!”

“Bobby,” Dean asked slowly, his mouth barely forming to word. 

“Yeah, you alright kid,” Bobby asked again. 

“Key,” he asked, fighting the restricted movement of the cuffs. 

Bobby pulled a handcuff key from his pocket and handed it to Dean. Bobby took the handcuffs from Dean and hefted them in his hand. They might offer him some piece of mind, if nothing else. With one swift motion he handcuffed Dean to the door handle. Dean yanked against the restraint, rolling his head towards Bobby, glaring. “Bobby?”

“Not taking any chances,” Bobby said before he shifted into gear. 

They road in silence for an hour before Bobby asked, “Wanna tell me how the hell you got from New Mexico to Minnesota in five hours? You didn’t fly, drive, or walk. Spill it, boy.”

Dean shook his head. “I didn’t even know I was in Minnesota until you said so Bobby. The last thing I remember was walking out of the bar near our motel in New Mexico.”

“How long were you in the bar before you left?”

“I don’t know, maybe two hours. They didn’t have a pool table so there wasn’t much to do.”

“Well, that moves the timeline down to three hours; three hours that put you over a thousand miles away from your brother,” Bobby said, speculating over the possibilities. 

They didn’t say anything for a long while, riding in silence. 

“Dean, about the date…it’s May 12th, not June.”

Dean looked surprised, but didn’t say anything. 

“Sure you don’t remember anything else,” Bobby asked softly. “Anything at all?”

Dean shook his head. “Not a damn thing. Just a few minutes of lying in the ambulance, then you in the hospital room shaking me awake. Not even sure how I got to the ambulance.”

Bobby felt Dean’s question. “You were found laying next the road, half in a ditch. The kid who found you claims you couldn’t have been there for more than an hour, said he passed that same spot on his way to drop off his girlfriend, he found you on his way home…weird part is that the doctor claimed that given the current weather, there was no way you could have gotten such a bad case of exposure in such a short time.”

Dean pulled Bobby’s jacket around him, remembering the rain falling on him. 

“And then your little Houdini act back at the gas station…we’re gonna have to figure this out,” Bobby stated. 

“Whatever it was, maybe it—“

“Don’t even say that ‘it won’t happen again’ cause if there is one thing I know about the Winchesters, it’s that nothing is ever easy,” Bobby said, cutting Dean off. 

Dean snorted and turned back to the window, staring. It was bright out. For some reason, it made him feel empty. Anxious, even. Somewhere, he was missing out on something. 

Bobby drove silently, watching Dean out of the corner of his eye. He knew that until Sam arrived, he needed to keep a close eye on the older boy, trouble was brewing and he wasn’t going to let it happen on his watch. Not again. 

Dean woke to the car door slamming. He followed Bobby inside, heading for the upstairs, still tired. 

“Nope. Take the couch,” Bobby said firmly. 

Dean turned, surprised. Bobby had always let them use the spare bedroom; hell, he usually demanded they get their asses of the couch and into a real bed. 

“Until we know that happened, I want you close. Within my sights and locked down,” Bobby said. “I can start doing some research while you get some sleep. Be easier if you were closer to the books.”

Dean nodded. “Sure thing, Bobby...”

Hours away, Sam barreled down the interstate, his hands gripping the steering wheel tightly. He stared straight ahead, his eyes glued to the road; while his mind was whirring with possibilities of what could be happened to Dean. The fact that Dean seemed unharmed, except for the outdoor exposure and exhaustion, made the incident seem more of a curiosity than a hostile act. That would seemingly rule out demons and most everything else they had pissed off. He shook his head in frustration, he couldn’t think of anything. He was angry at himself for not going with Dean to the bar…maybe if he had been with him…or maybe if he had somehow kept Dean from going…maybe…it was Sam’s fault. 

It was evening when Bobby heard the rumble of the Impala pulling into the yard. 

He glanced up from the text in front of him. He was surprised when Dean didn’t shift at the sound. Under different conditions, he would have gone to check the car and Sam. Now he stared at the ceiling, unblinking. He had spent hours slowly pulling against the handcuff; loose, taut, loose, taut. The rhythm hadn’t ceased when Bobby had asked about it; and fearing Dean would hurt himself, Bobby had wrapped a washcloth around his wrist under the cuff. 

Bobby left Dean on the couch and met Sam at the door. “Go see your brother and then meet me in the kitchen.”

Sam tore through the house and came to halt when he saw Dean. 

Dean looked up and said, “Please say it’s time to go, Sammy.”

Sam shook his head. “No, Dean. We need to figure out what’s happening to you. We’re staying here. And I do mean ALL of us, okay?”

“Fine. See if you can spring me though. Bobby is a real prison warden,” Dean grumbled. “Been here on my ass all day.”

Sam laughed. “That’s kind of the idea, Dean. Is there anything you remember?”

“I already told Bobby that I don’t remember anything,” Dean snapped. “Now let me loose.”

“Give me a minute to talk to Bobby,” Sam said with a sympathetic nod. They had all been restrained at some point and it never got any easier. Sam himself still felt panicky at the idea of being restrained, the anxiety of detoxing in the panic room had always been closely under the surface. 

Bobby was standing over the stove when Sam walked in, burgers in the frying pan. 

“That a peace offering,” Sam asked with a knowing smile. He had bought enough peace-offering burgers and pies over the years to know one when he saw it. 

Bobby snorted into a beer. “He’s refused to acknowledge me for the past four hours. He’s done being handcuffed, but Sam—he disappeared right out of the car—that’s not something we’re prepared to handle, not without some more information.” 

“Trust me, I’d have done the same thing,” Sam sympathized. 

“So, what the hell do we do now,” Bobby asked. 

Before Sam could answer, a muffled yell came from the other room. He rushed into the room, Bobby right on his heels. They froze in the doorway. Dean was still handcuffed to the iron bar Bobby had bolted to the wall right over the couch, but something was wrong. 

He was levitating. Nearly two foot off the couch; his arm was painfully contorted as it pulled against the metal restraint that held him. 

He was obviously trying to yell, although it was muffled; as though coming from somewhere far away or underwater. 

His image suddenly flickered, much like a spirit might. 

He turned and made eye contact with Sam, terror in his eyes. He opened his mouth again, another pain and fear filled scream rushed out of his lungs just as Sam dove towards him. 

Just as Sam reached for him, Dean flickered and disappeared. 

“Dean!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Any guesses what they're dealing with?


	3. West Coast Dean

Bobby and Sam sat silently across the table from each other. They were far past the need for some serious rest, a half empty bottle of Wild Turkey stood between them. 

They were rounding down to sunrise; books, maps, talking boards, even a scrying bowl, were scattered all the way from Bobby’s desk into the kitchen. 

Sam was the first to break the heavy silence that had settled over the house. “What the hell happened in there? “

Bobby shook his head slowly, his eyes glued to the bottle of his glass. “I’ve never seen anything like it before.”

“There’s gotta be someone else we can call,” Sam said through gritted teeth. “Someone has to know what this is.”

“I’ve called everyone I know, Sam,” Bobby explained quietly. “All we can do is wait for someone to call us back.”

The silence resumed for another few minutes until Sam spoke again, his voice cracking. “Where do you think he is?”

Bobby didn’t want to think about it. “No idea.”

“He looked so scared Bobby,” Sam said. Worry and fear had taken over Sam, his shoulders hunched while his throat seemed tight with emotion. 

“I know,” Bobby replied. That fact had him more worried than anything else, Dean didn’t scare easily. He drained his glass and filled it again. There had to be something…to try…to do…to think of….anything other than sit on their asses like a bunch of emotional ninnies. 

As the sun rose over the horizon, Bobby sent Sam up to sleep. 

“One of us has to be awake enough to answer the phones,” Bobby had argued. “You can take over after some sleep.”

Sam dragged his feet up the stairs and dropped onto the bed. He tossed and turned for an hour, his ears pricking at any sound he could hear or imagine; the sound of a telephone, a car’s engine, a door slamming …a voice. Dean’s voice. 

He was on his second trip the bathroom, a sad excuse to listen at the top of the stairs, when Bobby called up to him. 

“Sam, get your ass back in that bed and get some goddamn sleep. I’m gonna need some shut eye in a few hours’ time. I want you ready to answer phones and make dinner,” Bobby yelled from his chair at the desk. 

Sam stood silently, glancing back at the bedroom. He wasn’t able to sleep—

“NOW!”

Sam scurried back down the hallway and dropped back onto the bed with a frustrated sigh. 

Three hours later, Bobby stepped out on the porch, staring out across the junkyard. No one had called. 

\-----------

Dean woke slowly. Painfully. His head swam as sensations assailed him. 

A faint smell filled his lungs, heady and sweet, his stomach churning with want. 

A sound filled his ears, making his brain rattle in his skull. He clutched his head in his hands, only then feeling the burning pain in his arm. He forced his eyes open; they felt gritty as he tried to bring his arm into focus. Bruises wrapped around his wrist, snaking to his elbow. 

He lifted his head momentarily. He could see nothing useful. 

He dropped his back onto the ground with a thump. He groaned as he forced his sore hand into his pocket, smiling almost triumphantly when he felt his phone. He frowned when he saw the time. It was noon, but what day? 

Bobby answered on the first ring. 

“Dean! Dean, where the hell are ya, boy,” Bobby crowed into the phone. 

Dean tried to speak, but found his mouth dry, parched even. 

He coughed and croaked out, “I don’t know.”

“Okay,” Bobby said, trying to push him calm through the phone to Dean. “Look around you. Listen. What’s near you?”

Dean rolled over onto his knees, groaning as he did. His feet and legs ached to the very bones, the muscles contracting painfully. His head pivoted this way and that, until he heard a familiar sound. 

“I hear traffic,” Dean said, relief flooding his voice. 

“Good! Head to it, find a road sign. Anything to help us find you,” Bobby encouraged. 

Dean stumbled through the underbrush, ferns and moss making him stumble. He stepped out onto the mowed shoulder of the road, cringing as a loud semi-truck blew past him. He held his phone tightly in his hand. 

He looked up, sensing something tall and leery over him. It was a sign. His jaw dropped as he read the words. 

“Bobby,” Dean mumbled. “I’m standing in Naches, Washington.”

Bobby felt his heart skip a beat. 

“Bobby, can you come and get me,” Dean asked as he tried to keep his voice calm, firm. 

Bobby swallowed the lump in his throat. “Not soon enough, you can’t sit on the side of the road until we get there. That’s a long drive. I’ve got someone near you, a hunter; I’ll have them come get you. Sam and I will be there as soon as we can.”

Dean didn’t say anything. He wanted to be away from the woods. Their silence was bearing down on him. He glanced into the trees, shivering. “Can you stay on the phone until they get here?”

Bobby frowned at the fear in Dean’s voice. He picked up another phone from the lineup. “Sure thing,” he said. “I’ll let them know where you are and be right back.”

Dean stood shivering on the side of the road, the cool mist drifting past him. He could hear Bobby talking to someone, giving them Dean’s location and cell number. 

“Dean, I’ve got a hunter by the name of Patrick Dennis coming to pick you up,” Bobby said when he got back on the phone. “He’ll be there in an hour.”

“Thanks Bobby,” Dean mumbled into the phone, his voice shaking. 

“Dean, why you’re freshly back from…wherever you went… what do you remember,” Bobby asked gently. He knew Dean was shaken up, hell, they all were; but they needed more clues to figure it out. 

“I don’t know Bobby,” Dean said as he glanced behind him again into woods. “I could smell something incredibly sweet when I woke up, but I don’t see anything here that would cause that kind of smell.”

“Anything else,” Bobby asked, his mind whirling into action.

“No.”

“Alright, how are you feeling? You had hypothermia and exposure last time you were gone this long,” Bobby said. “Anything we need to be worried about?”

“A little cold,” Dean admitted with a little hesitation. “But it’s misty here.”

“Anything else,” Bobby asked. 

“Bruised a bit, probably from being pulled against the handcuffs when I got taken,” Dean said staring down at his bruised arm. “Feet hurt too.”

“Yeah, I figured as much. From the amount of pressure that was on your arm, I was worried you’d wake up somewhere with it dislocated,” Bobby admitted. 

They spoke about everything from ammo to the best places in the continental US to get peanut butter pie before a pickup pulled up next to the spot were Dean was sitting, his back to the woods. Dean shoved his phone into his pocket and climbed in. The man next to him was probably his dad’s age, with red hair and a scraggly beard. 

“Dean Winchester,” the man said with a low whistle. “Never thought I’d see a Winchester again.”

“You know me,” Dean asked. 

“I worked with your dad a few times over the years, heard about him passing too,” the man said with a nod. “He hated Washington, never stopped bitching about the salt damage to the underside of his truck.”

Dean laughed tiredly. “Sounds like him.”

They road in silence for miles; the warmth of the truck lulling Dean into nodding off only to jerk awake every few minutes. 

“You can sleep,” Patrick said. “I’ll keep an eye on you.”

Dean snorted and shook his head. “I just don’t want to fall asleep and wake up in another ditch somewhere.” 

“You won’t if I can help it,” Patrick said. “I’ve got a few things to try out, Bobby told me about what’s happening.”

They drove through the small town and followed a dirt road through an orchard. Dean woke, startled, when Patrick cut off the engine. “Head on in, I’ve got a spare bedroom you can use.”

Dean stumbled tiredly up the steps, his feet burning and aching in his boots. He felt a warm breeze suddenly blow past him, the same sweet aroma filling the air. He felt himself panic. “Patrick!”

Dean’s hand touched the doorknob just as his vision turned white. He felt the world tilt on its axis just as a pair of hands grabbed him. Then, there was nothing. 

\-----

Bobby stood in the doorway of Patrick’s spare bedroom. The lamp on the bedside table illuminated the older brother’s face, pale against the dark green pillow. Patrick had obviously tried everything he could think of to keep the boy in the house, heck, he’d settle for keeping him on the same coast. 

The bed had been pulled to the middle of the room, a heavy layer of salt scattered onto the floor. Dean’s legs and arms had been cuffed to the iron frame bed, a layer of quilts stacked on him. Patrick had drawn what looked like every protective and warding sigil he could think of onto the walls. The air was heavy with burnt herbs. Patrick wasn’t taking any chances on having to tell Bobby Singer that he had let Dean get taken from under his very nose. Everyone knew how much those boys meant to him. He liked breathing too much to risk going toe to toe with Bobby. 

“He looks exhausted,” Bobby frowned. 

“The only thing he’s done since he got here is breath,” Patrick said from the other room. “I thought Sam was coming with you.”

“Well, given that Dean keeps popping up all over the place, we figured one of us had better stay put and be a little more centrally located to the continent,” Bobby explained. “In case he decides to go to Florida all of a sudden, Sam will be a few hours closer than me.”

“Probably a good idea,” Patrick stated. 

“So what happened,” Bobby asked, impatient to get more information. 

“He was almost inside the house when it happened. I was pulled some gear out of the truck when I saw him flicker, just like you had described when we talking. I dropped the bag and ran for him, grabbed him just as he started to flicker again. He dropped like a stone, but he stayed put,” Patrick explained. “Wish I could say I knew what happened, but…I don’t.”

“He said anything since?”

“Not a peep. Didn’t even flinch when I pulled his boots off…speaking of which…I wasn’t too sure if you had seen this, but you ought to check it out.”

Bobby followed Patrick into the bedroom, the salt crunching under his feet. He watched as Patrick kneeled and began to unwrap the gauze he had wrapped around Dean’s feet. He used a small flashlight to illuminate Dean’s foot. 

Bobby frowned. “What the hell caused that?” 

The Dean’s foot was raw, blistered in some areas. Bobby gently touched Dean’s foot; God, it looked like raw hamburger. How had Dean even managed to walk on it? 

“I’m guessing the other one is just as bad,” Bobby said with a sigh. 

“Yeah,” Patrick said. “I washed them with salt and holy water, but other than washing them out it had no effect.”

Bobby didn’t say anything. 

“Any clue what it is,” Patrick asked. 

“Nope,” Bobby snapped. “Not a damn one. But we’re going to start ruling crap out.”

“We?”

“Yeah, you own me one anyhow. You’ve already got him trussed up, might as well take the opportunity. I know Sam would want to be here…but we’ve got to figure this out now and Sam might hold back,” Bobby said. He hated to think of keeping Sam in the dark, but he couldn’t risk Dean flickering into nothingness again. 

Patrick nodded silently and went to get his bag. 

“You want to do an exorcism first,” Patrick asked. “See if there’s something in there with him?”

“Might as well,” Bobby said with a flinch. Over the years, he had awoken from more than one nightmare of performing an exorcism on one of his boys. He hated the thought of even trying. 

They stood on either side of Dean, rosaries and books in hand. They spoke in perfect synch, the Latin words filling the room. Bobby felt an icy grip in his chest as he stared down at Dean; he knew the words by heart, only holding the book from habit. Dean didn’t even flinch, much less expel a demon. 

Patrick and Bobby finally tossed their books onto the table and stared at each other, their minds trying to think of something else. 

“Get me holy water and silver,” Bobby said with a deep set frown. “Might as well rule out the most obvious selection.”

Over the next hour, they sprinkled Dean with holy water and salt, burned incense, and nicked him with silver, brass, and iron. Nothing made him stir. It was eerie to watch him, the steady rise and fall of his chest the only movement coming from his body. 

Bobby stood next to Dean and examined his bruised arm. He looked up at Dean’s face, not a flinch, not a murmur, nothing. It was like his body had been left behind and his mind taken. He frowned at the thought. He lifted one of Dean’s eye lids; the pupil was completely blown and unmoving. “Balls.”

“Patrick, get your ass in here!”

“What’s wrong?”

“I think we’re looking at an empty Dean meat suit. Get everything together for a summoning.”

“What are we summoning,” Patrick asked cautiously. There was no way he was letting Bobby Singer call a demon or anything else into his house. 

“Dean,” Bobby said with a grunt as the gestured at Dean. “He’s not in there.”

“Sure it’s not just a concussion or something,” Patrick asked as he stared down at Dean. 

“He’s as vacant as a Detroit motel,” Bobby snapped. “We got work to do.”

Over the next hour, Patrick and Bobby measured, mixed, and combined the items needed to bring Dean’s spirit back to the body on the bed. “Least he ain’t dead this time,” Bobby grumbled, worried. “Just not in there.”

“Bobby, are you suggesting Dean’s having an out body experience,” Patrick asked as Bobby tossed the lit match into the bowl, a plume of green smoke puffing out of the bowl. 

“Do I look like I know,” Bobby snapped. “I’m just going on my gut here. You got a better explanation for his empty carcass, be my guest. One minute his body is disappearing and the next it’s his goddamn mind.” 

They watched as Dean suddenly arched off the bed, his arms and legs pulling tautly against the metal cuffs. A cry filled with disappointment and longing filled the air, the very sound of it worried Bobby. Where ever Dean had been, he obviously didn’t want to be brought back from it. A sweet aroma filled the room and was gone so quickly that Bobby wasn’t sure he hadn’t imagined it.

Bobby peeled one of Dean’s eyes open, the vibrant green filled with winsome yearning. It was probably the only time Bobby had ever seen the expression on the man, without it involving a woman or a bottle. 

“Dean, son, you with us?”

Dean stared past him, seeing something only he could.

“Dean, where the hell you been, kid?”

“Aren’t they beautiful,” Dean asked softly, his eyes were tracking something above the bed. A small smile danced over Dean’s face before his eyes rolled back in his head. 

Bobby sighed and looked up at Patrick. “I’m too old for this crap.”

“You and me both,” Patrick said as he pulled a bottle of bourbon from the bag. “Let’s go call Sam.”

\----------

Sam tripped over his own feet when the phone rang; his pacing had been wearing a hole in the faded carpet in Bobby’s study for the past several hours. “Bobby! Do you have him?”

“I’ve got him, Sam.”

“How is—“

“He’s alright, barely talking but okay. Few bumps, bruises….some painfully sore feet. Nothing we can’t fix.”

“Did Patrick have any useful information?”

“You might could say that. We’ll talk when I get back with him.”

Sam set the phone back on the receiver with a sigh of relief. Dean was safe. For now.


	4. Home Bound

Bobby pulled off the interstate and turned the car towards Sioux Falls. He glanced in the rearview mirror at Dean, who was unusually quiet. Bobby had insisted on ice packs for Dean’s aching legs and feet, pulling over every hundred miles to get a new bag of ice and to check the many bruises that laced the man’s arm. Ten minutes on, twenty minutes off; Dean seemed so distracted that Bobby had to keep reminding Dean to move the ice to avoid potential nerve damage. 

It had been a long and painfully quiet trip from Washington, Dean had barely said a word since Patrick had helped get him into Bobby’s car. Dean hadn’t looked up when the car had left the interstate; Bobby wasn’t even sure how aware Dean really was. 

“Dean, you alright back there?”

Dean nodded slowly. 

“You know what day it is?”

Dean nodded. He had checked Patrick’s calendar before Bobby had loaded him into the car. Somehow, he felt cheated. The calendars and clocks were messing with him. 

“You know where we are?”

Dean rolled his eyes and nodded.

“You lose your ability to talk?”

Dean shook his head, refusing to meet Bobby’s gaze in the rearview mirror. 

Bobby pulled the car onto the shoulder and killed the engine. “Dean, you know that if you show up like this—mute and just nodding—Sam’s gonna have a field day of worry. You wanna talk about whatever’s on your mind, son?”

Dean looked hesitant. “What the hell is going on, Bobby? I don’t want to keep disappearing… and I don’t want Sam crawling up my ass the second we get home.”

Bobby nodded. Dean hated to be worried over, hated being under anyone’s watchful eye. It was going to be even worse now that Dean was actually scared of what was happening to him. Bobby knew Dean would react badly to Sam’s mother hen ways. He had always been that way. 

“I don’t know yet what’s taking you, or why. But we’re going to buckle down and figure it out, which is why we need to get back to Sam as soon as possible. He might have figured something out by the time we get there.”

Dean nodded again; Bobby could see the traces of hidden fear in his eyes. He cranked the engine and pulled back onto the road. 

Dean leaned his head against the window, shivering from the ice on his legs. The ice made him miserably cold; but without it, his legs were incredibly painful. He closed his eyes and let out a deep sigh, he was so tired. He knew he had slept most of the trip but it seemed as though no amount of sleep made a dent in his exhaustion. He just wanted to crash on the couch but knew he’d be lucky to get past Sam without having a full on interrogation. 

Dean woke up with a start when Bobby climbed out of the car and slammed his door. He ran a hand over his stubbly face; he was over it, whatever it was, that was snatching him up from his life. Dean watched as Sam sprinted to the car, yanking the door open and gazing in at his brother. 

“Dean, you okay?”

Dean dropped the bags of ice onto the floor of the car and used his arms to pull himself to the door; wincing at the deep ache in his arm and the more troublesome pain in his legs and feet. 

“Get your bags, Sammy, I want us to be on the road soon.”

Sam’s jaw dropped as he glanced at Bobby. “Dean—“

“Hey! Whatever this is, we can sort it out while we keep hunting. Bobby can call us if he finds anything,” Dean said as he glared from Sam to Bobby, daring them to argue with him. 

“Dean,” Bobby interjected. “You need—“

“No! What I need is—“

Dean’s words turned into a hiss of pain as his feet touched the ground. He slapped Sam’s hands away and forced himself to stand. Bobby shook his head in frustration, knowing what was going to happen. 

As soon as Dean let go of the car and took a step on his own, he went down hard. Bobby put a hand on Sam’s chest to stop him from moving to help his brother. 

Dean needed to find his own limit; if he didn’t, he would fight them the entire time. 

Dean laid on the ground, his teeth clenched in pain and eye pricked with unshed tears. 

“I want to find whatever sonuvabitch is responsible for this and gut them slowly,” Dean ground out through gritted teeth. 

Bobby and Sam looked at each other, they both knew how Dean was going to get into the house and he wasn’t going to like it. 

With a nod to Bobby, Sam silently leaned down and scooped his brother up and carried him towards the house. 

“Sam! Put me down!”

Dean fought for Sam to let him walk, but Sam turned a deaf ear and refused to stop. Within seconds, he had Dean through the front door and dropped him unceremoniously onto the couch. 

Bobby had trailed behind, Dean’s boots in his hands, listening to the ranting and raving from the older boy. He knew Dean was trying to cover up his panic and fear with harsh words, it was the way Dean had always done it. 

But Dean’s attitude wasn’t enough to keep Sam back. 

Sam silently placed a few ice packs on Dean’s legs and feet before handing Dean a bottle of pain killers. As Dean fought to open the bottle, Sam took the chance to check out the bruises that laced up his arm. He spent the following hour prodding Dean for information, although Dean had no new information to give them. Sam was determined to keep Dean grounded. If that meant Dean would get annoyed at Sam, so be it. 

It wasn’t too bad until Dean wanted a shower. 

“You’re not going in there with me, Mt. Pantene Pro V, so you can stop right there,” Dean snapped, trying to push Sam back from the bathroom door. 

“You’re not going in there alone either,” Sam argued, his arms folded over his chest. “Every time you’ve been body snatched, you were by yourself, even if it was just for a second.” 

They were squared off at the bathroom door and Bobby could feel the waves of anxiety rolling of off Sam. He looked like he hadn’t slept, even though Bobby had pressured him to get some sleep while he and Dean had been on the road. 

Bobby stepped in with a solution. “Dean, you shower and sing the entire time so Sam and I can hear you. Sam, you stay outside the door and if Dean calls out for you or stops singing, take that as your cue to jump in.” 

“Bobby,” Dean whined. “If I have to have a shower chaperone, can’t you find me a woman, at least?”

Bobby almost smiled at that. “No such luck. You so much as bellow out the wrong chord and Sam will take that door off at the hinge. No messing around in there. You get in, scrub down, and get your ass back out here and where we can both see you.”

Dean glared at Bobby. “Trust me; you’ll be lucky if I can even stand long enough to wash anything.”

Bobby pointed to the bathroom. “Sam, put that old stepstool in the tub so your brother can sit down to shower.”

Dean looked like he wanted to protest, but Bobby saved him the embarrassment of needing the chair and the pain of choosing to not use it. “You’ve been in the back of my car long enough that you’ve got a real funk on you. And who knows what the hell you’ve got on you from wherever the hell you’ve been.”

Dean trudged into the bathroom on tiptoe, as though the floor were covered with broken glass. 

Sam groaned when Dean started singing, “Highway to Hell”. It was practically a goddamn soundtrack for their lives and he hated every single word of it, much less when Dean was going to sing it for twenty minutes straight. 

Sam leaned heavily on the low table that sat across from the bathroom door, his normally good posture gone. He was exhausted with worry. He could hear Bobby downstairs, on the phone again. It seemed like the man had a never ending data plan and a never ending list of return calls to make. 

Sam ran his bare feet along the rug, the tips of his toes brushing lightly against the rough weave. He closed his eyes and listened to Dean through the door. He could hear the water flowing though the pipes, which rattled inside the wall. Sam’s ears pricked as Dean’s voice faltered. 

“Dean,” Sam called out, testing. No answer. 

Sam slid from his perch on the table, his feet sliding on the worn rug, unbalancing him. With his arms reeling to catch himself, he went down hard. He groaned, flat on his back, before he quickly rolled onto his feet and moved to the bathroom door. “Dean!”

No answer. 

Sam tried the door handle. “Goddamn it, Dean! Told you to leave it unlocked!” 

The door smacked into the wall loudly as it swung open with the force of Sam’s kick behind it. He didn’t bother to worry about the wall or the door; making sure Dean was still where he was supposed to be, that was his only concern. 

“Sam! What the hell, man! Get out!”

Dean glared at him from around the shower curtain. 

“You have to keep singing, Dean. I thought you were gone again! I had to check,” Sam spat out in relief. He closed the bathroom door and resumed his stance against the table. 

Sam knew Bobby hadn’t turned up an answer yet, but he was curious what Patrick Dennis had said to him. Bobby had been evasive when Sam had first asked him what had happened in Washington. He was biding his time to ask him again, hoping that it was Dean he hadn’t wanted to talk in front of and not Sam. He knew that as much as Bobby wouldn’t keep anything detrimental from him, he would hide something if he felt it wasn’t relevant. Something had happened in Washington, and relevant or not, Sam wanted to know. 

In a puff of steam Dean strode out of the bathroom, towel around his waist, walking on obviously painful feet. 

Sam scrutinized his older brother’s appearance. “You look smaller.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “Height jokes, Sammy? Well, you look like a friggin sasquatch. There, now we’re even. Where is my bag?”

Sam pointed across the hallway. “On the bed. And I mean you look like you’re losing weight; in fact, when I picked you up, you seemed lighter.”

Dean shrugged. “I don’t know, how many meals have I missed with my sudden disappearances? Speaking of which, I’m starved. Hope Bobby has something in the fridge.”

“Dinner’s on the stove,” Sam called out as he waited to follow Dean down the stairs. He knew he was risking a smack from his brother by hovering, but there was no way he wanted to go through another night of wondering where his brother was. 

Bobby and Sam watched as Dean shoveled spaghetti into his mouth; Sam sat across from him while Bobby stood in the doorway. Neither one wanted to take their eyes off the man. The mileage was beginning to take its toll on all of them. 

“We need to figure out sleeping arrangements,” Sam said hesitantly. 

“I already figured I’d be on the couch,” Dean said off handedly. “You and Bobby switching off during the night.”

“Probably the best we can do for now,” Bobby grumbled. “We’ve got to figure out what we’re missing and nip this thing in the bud.”

Dean nodded vigorously as he shoveled in another mouthful. 

“Dean, slow down,” Sam said. “You’ve gonna make yourself sick.”

Dean shook his head, refusing to listen to his brother. 

“Fine, you’re going to make me sick, alright? Slow down, that’s disgusting,” Sam said with a sigh of defeat. 

Dean glared and spoke around the mouthful of food. “I’m starving, Sam. And if I go ‘poof’ again there goes my chance to eat.”

“Maybe you should keep a granola bar in your pocket,” Sam remarked innocently. “You know, for next time.”

“Granola bars? Look man, I’m not some hippie food pack mule, so you can stop right there,” Dean said defiantly. “If we can find a way to…I don’t know…freeze dry a hamburger or something, maybe.”

“A space burger? That’s so gross,” Sam said as he pushed his own plate full of spaghetti away in disgust. 

“How about a beer then,” Dean asked hopefully. 

“We’re out,” Bobby interjected. “I’d offer milk but the gallon went bad. Had to dump it. You can have water or juice.”

“Juice? Why? Am I going to preschool when dinner is over? Water is fine….Juice, geez, like being body snatched isn’t bad enough.”

“Dean, there is nothing wrong with juice,” Sam argued. “It’s good for –“

“If you boys are done trying to start a fight,” Bobby interjected. “I’m going up for some shut eye. Keep it down, unless something happens. Watch the phones, we might get lucky and get some information.”

Under Sam’s watchful eye, Dean drifted to the couch, intent on finding something useful thru research. He was flipping through his second volume when he caught Sam staring at him over the top of his own book. Dean ignored him. 

Sam sat at Bobby’s desk unable to concentrate on the book in his hands. The more he stared at his brother, the more apparent Dean’s weight loss was. 

“Dean,” Sam finally said, breaking the silence. 

“What,” Dean asked gruffly, not looking up from his book. 

“You sure you don’t remember anything,” Sam asked curiously. “Anything at all?”

“How many times I gotta tell you, Sammy, I don’t remember anything,” Dean mumbled aloud without looking up. “Just that crazy sweet smell.”

Sam frowned and glanced back down at the book in his hand. He went back to reading the details of dream root, the very one he and Dean had used years ago. Sam briefly wondered if he could use it to break into Dean’s subconscious while he was sleeping; hoping to find a helpful clue that Dean just couldn’t remember. He tossed the thought aside when he checked Bobby’s cupboard and found the jar empty. Hell, even if the jar had been filled there was no guarantee it would work like he wanted it to. 

Sam sighed in frustration, rubbing his tired eyes. He needed a break, hell, they all did. 

But he knew that as a Winchester, things would only get worse before they would get better.


	5. A Tough Decision

It was late or rather extremely early in the morning when Bobby crept downstairs, his knees aching from years of unforgiving work. He found Dean snoring slack jawed on the couch while Sam sat at the desk, his feet propped up on the desk and a coffee mug in his hand. 

“Any more of that in the pot,” Bobby asked, startling Sam out of his tiring stare. Dean had barely moved during the night, apparently too exhausted to even roll over into a more comfortable position. 

“Uh…yeah,” Sam said with a yawn. “Should be a cup or two left.”

Bobby settled into the armchair near the couch and pulled a book from the stack. “Guessing you figured the handcuffs weren’t worth it?”

Sam shook his head silently before deciding to lure Bobby into the conversation he needed to have with him. “They obviously can’t keep him from disappearing and they’ll just increase his changes for getting hurt... I noticed he’s got bruises on all four extremities now.” 

Bobby kicked himself. Of course Sam would notice the extra bruises. He hadn’t gotten around to divulging all the details from Washington yet and considering Sam’s protectiveness over Dean, he might not. 

“Patrick used a full set of restraints on him. Not sure if that actually kept him grounded or if whatever it was just didn’t want to take him at the time. Either way he stayed put.”

Sam nodded before saying, “I did tie some bells to him.”

Bobby choked on his coffee and looked up at Sam in surprise. “You did what?”

“Remember how when we were kids, you took us fishing? Only you didn’t use those bobbers, you had a bell tied to the end of the pole? Well, same principle. He starts levitating or thrashing, we’ll hear it.”

Bobby nodded his understanding. “A Dean theft alarm, sounds like something we should have started using years ago. Where did you find a bell in this mess?”

Sam smiled and walked over to Dean, moving the lightweight blanket to reveal a small animal collar, pink with white bells, around Dean’s wrist. “I’m guessing it’s a cat collar, based on its size. Found it in the back of a kitchen drawer.”

“Can’t remember the last time I had a cat. But anyhow, not surprised, you can find near about anything around here if you look hard enough. How the hell did you get it on him?”

Sam pointed to his busted lip.

Bobby snorted. “The usual way.”

They sat and flipped through page after dusty page, Bobby occasionally relying on multiple volumes in order to cross reference possibilities. 

“You have any ideas yet,” Sam asked as he dropped his own book back onto the pile with a loud thud. He glanced towards Dean, hoping the sound had elicited a response, but Dean kept on sleeping. 

“I’m thinking it’s a curse of some kind maybe. Or something else using magic,” Bobby said as he exchanged his own book for another. “I think we can safely rule out vampires, werewolves, shifters, and demons.”

“Why are you crossing demons off the list of possibilities? Goodness knows we’ve pissed off enough of them,” Sam stated, his eyes closely watching Bobby. This was the conversation he had been waiting for. 

Bobby didn’t answer him; he just turned another page as he took a sip of his black coffee.

Sam scowled when he realized Bobby was ignoring him. “Bobby! Why are you ruling out demons?”

“Hush, Sam,” Bobby said with a glance towards Dean. He motioned for Sam to follow him to the kitchen. Sam stood in the doorway, where he could still keep an eye on Dean. 

“I want to know why you’re ruling demons out.” 

Bobby sighed; kicking himself for ditching the hours of sleep he could be getting. Instead, he’d spend the next hour getting his ass chewed by Sam. 

“Because we—Patrick and I—ruled out possession already,” Bobby said as he glanced past Sam to Dean. Bobby stood silently, watching Sam turn the information over in his head. 

“You tried to perform an exorcism,” Sam spat angrily. “On Dean?”

“Yep,” Bobby said casually. “Seemed like as good a place to start as any.”

“And?”

“And he wasn’t possessed, Sam. We read the rites, nothing happened, so I say we can rule it out. He was unconscious the entire time, never even flinched.”

Sam swallowed a lump of anger and tried to hold back as he hissed though gritted teeth. “Did you consider what it could have done to Dean; to have him wake up, restrained, in an unfamiliar place, with you reading the exorcise rites over him!? He could have freaked out! Or worse— flipped some switch on his memory bank— his time in Hell maybe!”

Bobby grimaced at the thought. Honestly, he hadn’t thought of that. His plan had been to help Dean out of whatever mess he was in now. Not the mess he had been in years ago. 

“Did you even consider what you would have down if he had been possessed,” Sam whispered, trying to keep his voice down.

“Sure,” Bobby said with a shrug. “We would have finished the exorcism.”

Sam ran a hand through his hair. “Fine, Bobby. I get it, you wanted to use his down time to try and figure it out….I’m just not happy that I’m finding out about it now….a day later!”

Bobby scrutinized Sam. “What’s got your panties in such a twist? I figured you’d be right at the forefront of getting this figured out.”

“I am,” Sam said defensively, his voice rising slightly. 

“So then,” Bobby asked. “You wanna cut to the chase and tell me what’s gotten up your ass? Or are we gonna waste all night with me trying to pussyfoot around your feelings?”

Sam huffed and turned on his heel, plopping himself back into his chair. Bobby eased back into his own armchair and returned to flipping pages, pointedly not looking at Sam. If Sam wanted to have a mood, Bobby would let him; for a little while anyhow, until Bobby decided to put his foot down in order to avoid the inevitable fight it would cause. 

It took less time than Bobby thought for Sam’s silence to break. 

“I should have been there,” Sam said quietly. His eyes were locked onto Dean’s sprawling form on the couch. “What if he HAD been possessed? What if I couldn’t have gotten there before—“

“Sam, if I had found anything serious, I would have called you sooner than I did,” Bobby interjected. “You know that, son.”

“I know, Bobby,” Sam said, dropping his head down. “But…I should have been there.”

“Sam, if he goes poof again, you’re taking the next trip. No doubt about that. I’ll be staying here and researching while you chase his levitating ass.”

Sam laughed and turned another page, a tired smile on his face. 

They sat for another hour, reading and occasionally comparing notes. The sun slowly started to brighten the room as it rose. Dean rolled over with a groan and nearly died of embarrassment when he heard the bells ringing around his wrist. 

“Dean,” Sam called out suddenly, startled out of his unintended nap by the sound of the bells; his book hitting the floor with a loud thud as it slipped through his fingers. 

“I’m fine, Sammy,” Dean snapped. “Just rolling over, not running away.”

Sam started to settle back into his chair when Bobby motioned for him to get up. “Time for you to hit the hay.”

“Bobby, I’ll be fine down—“

“Boy, this ain’t no democracy. When I say go to bed, I mean it. You’re going to be behind the wheel if Dean flies the coop; so you need to get some decent shut eye.”

Sam and Bobby locked eyes across the room. Dean watched from his place on the couch, knowing without a doubt that Bobby would win the argument. 

As Sam bit back a yawn, Bobby motioned to the stairs. “Like I said.”

“Fine, I heard you before. Wake me if—“

“We know, if anything happens I’ll yell for you,” Bobby said, feigning annoyance. 

Dean watched as Sam slowly made his way up the stairs. As soon as he was out of sight, Dean yanked the cat collar from his wrist. “Sometimes, Sam’s creativity worries me.”

Bobby chuckled. “You want to help me start looking for a way to keep you here?”

Dean shook his head. “Bathroom first, then breakfast.”

Bobby was flipping pancakes when Dean hobbled into the kitchen. They said nothing as they dug into breakfast, each man deep in their own thoughts. 

“Dean, how you taking all this,” Bobby asked gently after several minutes of silence. Dean hadn’t said much about his sudden disappearances and Bobby was getting worried that he was sitting on some helpful, but damning information. 

Dean shrugged as he shoved another forkful of pancake into his mouth. “I’m tired of it,” Dean mumbled around the food. “Want to get back to work. This is a pain in the ass.”

Bobby nodded. “So what do we know?”

Dean snorted derisively. “Not anything helpful. I get zapped from where I am to someplace else. I lose hours or days. There’s a weird smell and my feet hurt like hell.”

“Sound like anything to you?”

“Other than a bad case of me sleep walking, while dousing myself with perfume; not anything I’ve been able to come up with,” Dean said as he sipped his coffee. 

“Doesn’t sound very likely,” Bobby chuckled. “You rarely even roll over in your sleep, much less walk a thousand miles.”

“That’s just creepy,” Dean said. “Been watching me sleep, Bobby?”

Bobby huffed and adjusted his cap. “Well, if you boys could keep out of trouble for more than five minutes, maybe this old man could get some decent shut eye and not need to keep one eye on each of you at all times.”

Dean chuckled before getting quiet; his demeanor suddenly serious. “Worse case, what is this?”

“Not a clue. But I know of a few ways we can start ruling things out.”

“Let’s get started then.”

Bobby hesitated. “Dean, maybe we should wait for Sam. He might want to be there when we start this.”

“Bobby, he nearly cried into his girly locks over the thought of you performing the exorcise rites over me…you really think he’s going to be helpful while we sort through possibilities? Let’s just get this done.”

Bobby stared at Dean. “You heard me and Sam talking about the exorcism?”

Dean shrugged sheepishly, barely making eye contact. “Not a big deal, Bobby. You had to rule it out. Now, let’s get this done, okay?”

Bobby nodded slowly. He didn’t want to choose sides, but Dean was right. They needed to start working their way through the list. 

“Fine,” Bobby said as he grabbed a wooden box from the countertop. “Panic room or garage?”

“What are we ruling out,” Dean asked as he eyed the box. 

“Curses, hexes, the usual run of witchcraft. Won’t be quick either.”

“How are we going to do that?”

Bobby eyed at the hesitant young man. “Sam already checked through the Impala and your duffel bag. No hex bags to be found, but there are some other ways we can check.”

“Like how,” Dean asked, folding his arms over his chest, his stance straight and stiff. 

Bobby stared at Dean. “You got a sudden inclination to avoid getting this done?”

Dean shook his head. “Of course not, Bobby, just…”

“Just what?”

“I don’t know…maybe,” Dean said, avoiding Bobby’s gaze. 

Bobby scrutinized Dean from across the room before making his decision. “We need to wait for Sam.”

“No! I don’t want him hovering around while we do this later. Besides, maybe we’ll get lucky and figure it out.”

“So like I said, garage or panic room?”

“Garage, I guess.”

“Think you can walk out there? Your feet are in pretty bad shape.”

“I can handle it.”

They trudged across the muddy yard without talking; Dean moving slowly and with more care than usual. Bobby dropped a step back and took notice of the weight loss Sam had been talking about. He’d have to buckle down and figure this out soon. 

Once they were in the garage, Bobby pointed to a small chair. “Might as well grab a spot to sit. Like I said, this could take a little while.”

Dean watched as Bobby unpacked herbs, books, and some odds and ends from the box. 

“Bobby, other than finding a hex bag, how do you check for hexes?”

“Curses and hexes leave marks most of the time. Might look like a burn or a scar, a brand, or a tattoo; even an unusual freckle that you didn’t have before. Think of it like a signature, except that it gives the type of curse or hex. Makes it possible to hone in on the specifics.”

“So you’re looking for freckles and scars,” Dean mumbled. “Like I didn’t already have enough of those. Great.”

Dean watched as Bobby used chalk to draw sigils on the floor surrounding him. After lighting some foul smelling incense, Bobby held up a book, old and worn from use. “We’ll start with the easiest first. Just stay put and let me know if you notice anything.”

Dean sat silently as Bobby read from the book; he didn’t recognize the passage, but he could follow the Latin easy enough. He waited patiently until Bobby was done. 

“Feel anything yet?”

“Nope,” Dean said with a yawn. 

Bobby frowned and started flipped through the pages; finally he began to read aloud again. Dean sat and listened. The words seemed to run together, the incense filling the room; as the garage began to warm up, Dean fought to keep his eyes open. 

Three hours later, Bobby tossed his fifth book back into the box with a frustrated sigh. “Not a goddamn clue.”

Dean opened his eyes, bloodshot from exhaustion and shrugged helplessly. “Not a curse then? Or a hex?”

“Not one I’ve seen before, if it even is one,” Bobby said as he adjusted his cap. “Describe that smell you said you woke up to, back in Washington.”

“It was sweet, the sweetest thing I’ve ever smelled. Like spun sugar or honey, but more intense,” Dean explained. 

Bobby fiddled with his cap again. “When Patrick and I got your spirit back into your body—“

“Wait! What do you mean, my spirit back into my body,” Dean said loudly, surprised. 

“Back in Washington, Patrick and I tried everything we could think of to sort out what was messing with you, but finally realized your body was just an empty meat suit. Maybe it was one of those out of body experiences; I don’t know a better way to describe it. Either way, we summoned your spirit back to your body,” Bobby explained. “The point is, when we got you back, you said ‘they’. So whatever is it, there’s more than one of them.”

“Sonovabitch.” 

“Yep, and to be honest, by the sound of it, you didn’t want to come back from wherever you were.”

Dean opened his mouth to argue, a defensive look on his face; but Bobby held up his hand to silence him. 

“I’m not saying you don’t want to here, with us. I’m just saying that I’ve never known you to sound so full of…hell, I don’t even know. You sounded like you were full of disappointment to be pulled back into your body.”

Dean didn’t know what to say. How do you defend something you didn’t even know you did?

“Bobby…I’m sorry.”

“Sorry for what?! You didn’t do anything wrong! The only reason I’m even telling you is cause it might help us figure this out.” The expression on Dean’s face, one of hurt and self-loathing, made Bobby shake his head in frustration. It was a forever hard line to walk, between revealing information that might be helpful and information that could only be harmful. 

Dean slid from his chair, standing painfully before changing the subject. “What if it’s a Jinn?”

Bobby thought about it and shook his head. “Unless it’s a type we’ve never seen before. They like to take their victims for the long haul, drug them up with toxins and feed off them while the victims unconsciously dream their fantasy life. They don’t let them go. Besides, you’d have died from the toxins already. Anyhow, just because we didn’t have any luck with the books doesn’t mean you’re not carrying a hex mark. We’ll have to look you over for one.”

Dean nodded and headed for the door. “Can we wait a little while? I’ve gotta lay down for bit.”

Bobby frowned but followed Dean. It wasn’t like Dean to admit tiredness or anything short of ‘I’m okay’; it even more unlike Dean that he didn’t have a smartass remark about the inevitable strip search that lay ahead of him. 

As Dean dropped onto the couch, Bobby headed for the coffee pot. He was pouring a cup when he heard a curious sound filling the room. He turned towards the sound and froze. 

The room was in motion. Coffee cups hanging on hooks were swaying and clinking together, while silverware jumped in the bottom of the sink. The screen door opened and closed slowly, the squeaking joined by another faint sound, something light and airy and fluttering; something Bobby couldn’t pinpoint. Bobby didn’t dare move. 

Everything moved in time, tapping out a rhythm that seemed hypnotic. 

Movement in the doorway caught Bobby’s eye, the coffee cup slipped from his fingers and shattered on the floor. 

Dean was moving through the kitchen towards the backdoor, his movements rough and uncoordinated, as though he was a puppet on strings.

“Dean!”

Dean didn’t respond to Bobby’s shout, although Bobby could hear Sam already racing down the stairs. Dean’s strange march across the kitchen continued towards the door. Sam raced into the kitchen, pausing momentarily as the unreal symphony of sounds met his ears. He faltered for a second before lunging at Dean. 

Bobby watched, stunned. 

The second Sam touched Dean, he felt himself being forcefully launched away from Dean. His feet left the floor and for a few seconds the world moved in slow motion as he was thrown backwards across the room. Sam slammed into the doorframe hard, his vision swimming as he tried to regain his footing. 

Bobby jumped to lock the exterior door, hoping to block Dean’s exit from the house. Dean’s face was impassive, his eyes all but empty. 

“Dean! Snap out of it!”

Recognition flooded Dean’s face; he struggled to regain control of his body. Dean’s eyes flicked this way and that, again tracking something only he could see. As he tried to regain control of his body, a searing pain enveloped him. 

Dean fought against whatever it was that had him, tears of pain and fear streaming down his face as he was forced to reach towards the door, towards Bobby. “Bobby, move out of the way,” Dean cried out, his voice once again sounding muffled and distant. 

“Boy, I can’t let you out that door,” Bobby replied firmly as he bolted the door. “We’ve got you. You’re not going anywhere, Dean. Just fight whatever’s got hold of you.”

“I don’t want to hurt you too, Bobby,” Dean sobbed as he tried to look back at Sam. 

“I know it’s not your doing,” Bobby said. He knew he needed to do more; he needed to slow Dean’s escape from the house. “Fight to regain control.”

Sam watched from across the room, his vision swimming. Black dots danced in front of his eyes, making it hard for him to focus on anything in the room. The buzzing in his ears made it hard to hear the words coming out of Bobby’s mouth. He needed to get to Dean. He needed to get back on his feet. 

With a grunt and a groan, he pulled himself up using the doorframe as leverage, trying to keep ahold of his rolling stomach. “Dean…can you…can you see anything? What is it?”

Bobby could hear the slur in Sam’s voice and kicked himself. Sam was probably concussed. Just the little complication they needed. Only the Winchesters could complicate an already difficult case with medical maladies. He just hoped it was going to be the kind of concussion that they could deal with at home. He wouldn’t even be able to try to keep Dean grounded, much less watch the phones if he flew the coop, if he had to drag Sam to the emergency room. Worse, Sam would know that as well. 

“Bobby! Stop him,” Sam cried out as he watched Dean reached past Bobby and pull hard on the door handle. 

Bobby didn’t know what to do. Dean was still in constant motion, moving in small jerky motions, seemingly unable to control himself. And Sam, well, it was obvious that Bobby would end up like Sam if he tried to grab Dean. Something wanted Dean badly. 

He stood firmly against the door, pressing all of his weight back against it. Dean pulled the door handle with more strength; far more strength than they both knew he truly had. The door shuddered in its frame. 

“Bobby, please,” Dean whispered, his voice cracking in emotion. “Let me go. If I go, the pain will stop.” 

Bobby caught the anguish and fear in Dean’s green eyes. 

“I can’t, Dean.”

“I’ll pop back up somewhere. You know that! Please…let me out,” Dean sobbed as the waves of pain increased. He had to go. He had to answer their call. 

Bobby knew Dean was probably right but that didn’t make the decision any easier. With a shaky sigh of emotion, he moved out of Dean’s way and headed for Sam. At least he could help one of them. 

As Dean yanked the door open and crossed the threshold, he was swallowed up by the morning light, his silhouette lingering for a second before he vanished in a brilliant flash. Instantly, all the chaotic motion and sound in the kitchen stopped, everything resuming its inanimate state; the sudden silence was deafening. 

A sudden sound filled air. It sent a shiver racing down Bobby’s spine; it was full of fear and disbelief. 

It was Sam. Un-fallen tears of frustration glittered in his eyes as he gazed at the empty doorway. 

He fought to find his voice before glaring hatefully at Bobby. “What did you do?”


	6. Try This Trick and Spin It

Sioux Falls, South Dakota

Sam glowered at Bobby from the floor. “What did you do,” he asked again, his voice was lower this time but somehow even more angry than before.

Bobby swallowed the hard lump in his throat. He knew that tone. It was the famous Winchester tone that surfaced when they felt betrayed by someone they trusted. And they had so few people to trust anymore. “He asked me to, Sam. He asked me to let him go.”

“But why would you,” Sam yelled, instantly grabbing his pounding head as the buzzing in his ears worsened; he couldn’t straight as his vision continued to swim. He slowly pulled himself up from the floor, clinging to the doorframe for support. He glanced down at the floor, seeing the blood he had left behind. He slowly touched the back of his head, hissing in pain as he gingerly felt the large, swelling lump. Bobby reached to help him; cringing when Sam angrily pushed his hands away. 

Sam continued to cling to the doorframe, leaving bloody finger prints along the wood. His head pounded from his efforts to keep himself upright. He stepped slowly across the room, swaying heavily, in an effort to reach the backdoor. He had to know. He had to see that Dean was really gone. Bobby hovered a step away, hoping that if Sam went down, he would be able to catch him; hoping also that Sam would even let him near enough to do it. 

Sam groaned and held a hand to the oozing lump on the back of his head. He refused to even acknowledge Bobby. The only person Sam wanted was gone. And it was Bobby’s fault. 

Sam slowly made his way to the door, lunging for the doorframe with his last step. The room was beginning to spin faster. He swallowed hard as the taste of bile rose to his mouth. 

He shoved the screen door open and his unfocused eyes frantically searched the porch and yard for any sign of Dean. There was nothing. Not even a footprint in the dust on the porch. 

Bobby watched as Sam slowly slid down the doorframe until he was nearly sprawled on the floor. 

“Dean... I have to find him.”

“Sam—“

“I have to find him!”

“We will, Sam. Calm—“

“Don’t tell me to calm down! You let him go,” Sam yelled out, his breaths coming in short pants. His whole body felt heavy. He pointlessly tried to swat the dark spots in his vision. “You let him go...”

“Sam, you need to calm down. Breathe,” Bobby said as he kneeled next to Sam. “Take a breath, you’re going to hyperventilate and that won’t help anybody.”

Sam struggled to breathe, anxiety rolling over him like waves in a stormy sea. His eyes were glazing over, his lips pursed as he tried to pull in a breath. “I need to find…how…how could you?”

“Sam, look at me,” Bobby demanded, turning Sam’s face towards him. He frowned at Sam’s glassy eyes. “How many fingers am I holding up?”

Sam uncoordinatedly tried to swat Bobby’s hand away. “Leave me alone! You let him…”

Bobby grabbed Sam’s jaw and forced him to look up at him. He held Sam’s angst filled gaze as he said, “I know what I did, Sam. But right now, we need to worry about you. Stop being an ass and tell me how many fingers I’m holding up.”

Sam tried to focus on the blurry image in front of him. “Seven. Now get out of my way, old man! I have to find Dean.”

Bobby shook his head, he ignored Sam’s harshness. Another reason to find Dean, he was the only one Sam would listen to. “You’re not even close, considering I was only using one hand. You’ve got double vision to say the least. You know the drill: name, place, and date.”

Sam burst out in hysterical laughter, his breathing becoming choppy. “You let him go…and you want me to lay here and recite bullshit for you?”

“Sam, humor me or I will drag your ass to the emergency room and we both know they’ll keep you overnight for observation. Is that what you want? To waste even more time?”

Even concussed, Sam knew the right answer; it had been drilled into them over years of injury. He tried to shake his head but cringed as it made the pounding in his head worsen. “Sam Winchester.”

“And?”

“We’re at your house.”

“Not good enough. Name the state and town,” Bobby said with a huff. Winchesters, always trying to cut a corner to prove their invincibility. 

“Sioux Falls….Dakota.”

“North Dakota or South Dakota, Sam?”

“The lower one,” Sam said confidently.

Bobby huffed in exasperation. “Date?”

Sam looked thoughtful, his eyes wandering across the room. “Ummm….”

“Stop trying to read the calendar, Sam. Besides, you’ve got double vision; it’d be a miracle if you could read the damn thing even if your nose was pressed to it.”

Sam tried to roll his eyes, which only made his nausea worse. “Dean doesn’t know the date either.”

“And that’s supposed to make your scrambled brains alright? Stay put while I get something to clean you up. Might need some stitches.”

Sam rolled his head away from Bobby and stared out the door and across the porch to the Impala. “I need to go.”

“Not a chance, kid,” Bobby said with a sigh as he pulled open a kitchen drawer. “We have to wait til you’re up to it and even then we have to know which direction to go in. We’ll get a call, we have every time. This time won’t be any different.”

Sam stared up at Bobby, tears streaking down his face and into his hair. “You don’t know that.”

Bobby didn’t say anything as he held a towel to Sam’s bleeding head. Hell, he wanted this time to be like all the other times but how could he know? Dean could end up in some patch of unknown wilderness and die of exposure. He could wind up in the middle of a major highway and be run over by a church van filled with singing nuns. Who knew?

A phone started to ring somewhere in the house, making both of them jump. “Keep pressure on it. I’ll be back in minute.”

Bobby hurried to the other room and answered the phone; he stepped back into the room long enough to give Sam the ‘it’s not him’ look. Sam laid there listening to Bobby talk to someone named Jane about a banshee in Montana before his eyes caught a glint of metal on the floor. He slowly rolled over and picked them up; he knew the second he touched them what they were, the Impala’s keys. They must have fallen out of Dean’s pocket on his forced march through the kitchen. 

He needed to find Dean. 

He paused to listen to Bobby in the next room, the sound of pages being flipped and Latin being recited caught his ears. Bobby was busy; too busy to help Sam. Too busy to help Dean. He would have to do this alone. 

Sam gripped the keys tightly and willed the spots in his vision to go away. He slowly climbed to his feet, gripping the table as he tried to regain his balance. His head swam as the room began to spin again. 

Only one thought resounded in his addled brain, find Dean.

Sam opened the screen door and slipped out as quietly as he could. He could still faintly hear Bobby explained the details of some ritual into his phone. Sam didn’t care. He could find Dean on his own. 

Sam stumbled across the yard, tripping on his own feet and falling hard onto his knees. The impact made his stomach roll. He glanced furtively back at the house, half expecting to see Bobby coming after him. He breathed a sigh of relief when he didn’t see Bobby. He pulled himself to his feet using the car for support. His brain pounded in his skull, threatening to explode with every movement he made. 

He tried to yank the door open; it was locked. He squinted at the keys, trying to see which one he needed. The first one didn’t even fit after a full two minutes of trying to get it into the key hole; the multiple scratches now surrounding the keyhole went unnoticed in his stupor. 

He smiled triumphantly when the second key slid into the lock. With a groan, he slid behind the wheel. He fumbled with the ignition and finally the reluctant engine cranked for him. 

“I’m coming Dean,” he slurred to himself. His head swam as he shifted into gear, his vision blurring. 

He gripped the steer wheel tightly and peered out the windshield, wondering briefly why everything was so blurry. Maybe he needed to clean the windshield. As the junkyard’s exit came into view he gunned the engine and headed for the road. 

As the car hit a pothole it sent a jolt through him, rattling his brain in his skull. He cried out and brought a hand to the back of his head. It came away red. 

He stared at his hand in surprise before another bump made him look up quickly, his head swimming from the sudden motion. He yanked on the wheel and tried to find the junkyard’s exit again. He couldn’t see anything but black spots in his vision. 

With a sudden and hard lurch, the car came to a halt, throwing him into the dash. 

As the pain behind his eyes exploded, his vision gave out to darkness. 

Bobby stood on the porch, shaking his head in disbelief. He hurried down the steps and towards the Impala, his heart pounding in his chest. “Sam!”

Bobby gave the car a quick glance as he rounded it; a slight frown crossed his face as he stared at the damage, nothing he couldn’t fix luckily. He yanked the driver’s side door open and stared in at Sam. Blood trickled from his forehead now, as well as continuing to ooze more slowly from the lump on the back of his head. “Sam?”

He was unconscious. 

“Sam? Can you hear me?”

Bobby reached in and killed the engine. Sam didn’t move. 

Bobby sighed and debated over what to do. He could call an ambulance. He could haul Sam to the emergency room himself. Or he could lug him inside and wait it out. He had dealt with concussions before, on more than one occasion. It never got any easier to decide what call to make. Every concussion merited some level of medical care, but most hunters lived under the radar, out from under prying eyes and questions. He glanced at Sam’s bloody face and mentally tallied up the numerous signs Sam had exhibited.

Aggression, confusion, slurring, dizziness, repetitive conversation, blurred and double vision, nausea…and then his blatantly poor decision that had resulted in him crashing the Impala into a pile of rusted out pickup trucks in the salvage yard; Bobby stopped counting with a sigh and pulled his phone from his pocket, hoping to God that Dr. Fisher was on call. He hated filling out hospital paperwork, but not nearly as much as he was going to hate telling Sam that he had dented the Impala. 

WHEREABOUTS UNKNOWN 

It was warm. Not hot, not cold, not even humid. A faint breeze blew past him. He opened his eyes slowly. It was daytime, wherever he was. 

The blue sky overhead had no clouds, but trees cut into his line of sight. He moved slowly, hoping to hear a road noise or anything that would give him a direction to start walking in. 

He could hear nothing. No passing trucks. No emergency sirens. Not even a distant birdsong. Nothing. 

He cautiously lifted his head and peered around. It was too perfect, the sun was too bright and the sky to blue. He was in a clearing; immense oak trees encircled the grassy meadow where he was laying. He took a minute to take stock of himself. His feet no longer hurt, in fact, nothing hurt. He looked at his arms, there were no traces left of the bruises that had encircled his wrists and laced to his elbows. Without even looking, he knew the ones on his ankles were also gone.

He felt himself beginning to panic and scrambled to pull his phone from his pocket. He stared at his phone in horror. No service. No signal. And only one bar of battery life left. It was utterly useless. 

Wherever he was, he wasn’t going to be able to call Bobby or Sam to come and get him.

He felt his heart pounding in his chest, his lungs burning as he tried to breath. His hands shook as he shoved his phone back in his pocket. He was going to have a full blown panic attack if he didn’t stop. 

“Snap out of it, Dean,” he said aloud to himself. “Just have to wait it out.”

He knew he had probably been dropped ‘here’ before, wherever it was, every time he had been snatched up. And who knew, maybe he had been aware each time and just forgot when he returned to real life…Either way, chances were he’d end up back on the side of a road eventually. He just had to keep calm and wait for whatever this was to be over. 

He wracked his brain trying to figure out who or what could be taking him. Remembering what Bobby had told him about hexes and curses, he began frantically looking at his arms for any mark that he didn’t recognize. With a cautious glance around the clearing, he yanked his shirt off and continued his search. Nothing. 

He sighed deeply, his eyes closing for a second. He shook his head. This wasn’t going well. With a quick prayer to whomever was still using the prayer channels, he slipped his boots and jeans off. 

“Sure, just as I get naked, I’ll end up getting zapped back to reality. Oval office maybe,” Dean grumbled aloud as he flung his boxers onto the pile of discarded clothes. “Least I’ll get a chance to tell the President I’m sick of the gas prices.”

Dean continued his search for curse and hex marks. There were the usual array of scars and freckles, but nothing looked out of the ordinary. He pulled his clothes back on with a sigh. He was stumped. What was taking him? And why?

A breeze suddenly swept past him, a recognizable smell filling the air. It was sweet and sugary, like the most delicious pie in the universe had just been pulled out of the oven; only better somehow. As he pulled in another lungful of the mouth-watering aroma, he heard a noise nearby. 

He glanced around for anything he could use as a weapon; a small branch lay nearby. He crawled towards it and wrapped his hand around it just as something stepped right in front of him. 

White fabric brushed his knuckles, the faint print on the fabric making his heart skip a beat.

He glanced up slowly, his eyes taking in the unforgettable silhouette. 

He stood slowly, tears pricking his eyes as he reached out to touch her blond hair. 

“Mom?”

Sioux Falls, South Dakota

Bobby stared out the doorway of the small room, wondering where Dean might be. He held a cup of coffee in his hand, more out of habit than anything. No one drank hospital coffee because they liked the flavor. They drank it because it was all part of the crappy experience, one that started with admission paperwork and pesky questions and ended with discharge paperwork. 

He had already asked for Sam’s discharge paperwork to be finalized. It had been the first thing he had asked for when the xrays confirmed that Sam’s skull wasn’t fractured. 

Sam sat silently across the room on the bed. He had slowly gotten redressed, refusing Bobby’s help. He was staring at his boots on the floor. They seemed so far away. He knew there was no way he was going to able to reach them without falling over. His head was still pounding. 

He knew from listening to Bobby and the emergency staff that he had stitches, nearly a dozen on the back of his head from the kitchen doorframe and six near his temple from hitting the dash. He had been luck, they said. The car was moving so slowly and he had been so lax from his concussion that he had moved through the crash like a rag doll, the lack of tensing up had lessened his muscle strain. Regardless of lucky they said he was, he was still sore. And angry. 

Bobby sipped his coffee, refusing to acknowledge Sam’s glare. He knew Sam was still out of it and wasn’t ready to listen. He would deal with Sam’s attitude later. He just wanted to get them out of the emergency room as quickly as possible. Luckily, Dr. Fisher had taken charge of Sam’s case the second they had set foot into the hospital. 

He watched the corridor, knowing that Sam’s paperwork should be en route. He spotted Dr. Fisher down the hallway and nodded to him. Dr. Fisher hurried into the room and thrust a large envelope into his hands. “Prescriptions and discharge paperwork are in there. “

Bobby nodded his thanks. 

“You sure you want to take him so soon? I’d feel better if he’d stay the full twenty four hours,” the elderly man said with a glance at Sam. 

“Can’t,” Bobby simply stated. “We’ve got something more pressing than your need to glance at him every hour.”

The man chuckled. “It’s called observation for a reason, Bobby. We don’t open up everyone who comes in here with a concussion; only one percent, you know that. Be glad he didn’t fracture that skull of his; we’d be having a standoff over his discharge if he had. Just follow my discharge orders and call me on my cell tonight and let me know he’s doing alright. You promise to do that and I’ll let you walk out of here without any trouble.”

Bobby nodded and shook his outstretched hand. “Fine by me.” 

Sam slowly slid from the bed, closing his eyes as the room spun uncontrollably. He felt a hand steady him and guide him into a wheelchair. “Sorry, but you know the drill.”

“Whatever,” Sam mumbled as Bobby pushed him towards to door and out into the hallway. He glanced into every passing room, believing unrealistically that Dean could be in any one of them. 

“Who’s watching the phones,” he asked, not really wanting to talk to Bobby right then but desperate for information. 

“Nobody,” Bobby huffed. “I’ve got both of our cell phones in my pocket but as for the land lines…we’ll just have to check when we get home.”

Sam said nothing. There was no point in telling Bobby how important the phones were right now, he already knew. 

“I have to go find him,” Sam said softly, more to himself than for Bobby’s benefit. 

“We will find him, Sam. But until your brain’s done sloshing around in your skull, you’re not driving or lifting anything heavier than a spoon,” Bobby said as he pushed the wheelchair through the exit and into the parking lot. “Bear in mind, you get out of line again, I’ll pump you full of morphine and break both your arms and legs and leave you on the hospital’s doorstep with a fake suicide note pinned to your shirt. You wanna bet how long they’ll keep your ass under observation for all that?”

Sam didn’t say anything. The tone in Bobby’s voice was enough to keep Sam from retorting. 

“Should have never taken the time to help Jane out like that, not knowing you were concussed,” Bobby spat. He was seething with anger, more at himself than Sam. “Should have known you would attempt something stupid the second I took my eyes off you.”

Bobby watched in amazement as Sam burst into tears. He instantly felt shame. Sam wasn’t thinking straight, from the concussion and his panic over Dean, and he needed to cut Sam some slack. 

“Sam, I’m not mad at you. I’m mad at me, you dumbass,” Bobby said gently. “Just...Listen to me. We’ll get him back.”

“How,” Sam sniffled. 

“How about we start with something a little old school?”

Sam looked up at Bobby, confusion on his face. 

“We’re going to start with a prayer.”

Sam’s confusion increased. Maybe Bobby was the one who had hit his head. 

“Bobby, Cas already said that God is missing. No one’s listening.”

“Cas might be,” Bobby said as he hefted Sam into the car. “Just cause heaven’s having a little war right now, that doesn’t mean he wouldn’t like to take a little sabbatical and help us out.”

“I’ve been trying, Bobby. Dean and I have both tried to get his attention for a while now. He’s not listening,” Sam said he fumbled with his seatbelt. 

Bobby sighed. If Castiel hadn’t answered Dean himself, there was no way he was going to listen to him or Sam. 

“Maybe you’re just not doing it right,” Bobby mused as he pulled away from the hospital. “Might have to peak his interest is all.”


	7. Please Don't Feed the Winchesters

Sioux Falls, South Dakota

Bobby stared out over the junkyard, but he wasn’t seeing anything in front of him. Not the reflection of the sunset off the Impala’s gleaming paint job. Not the shadows creeping across the yard as the day made its transition to night. He was staring into the distant, his mind wandering farther than his sight could ever take him; wondering where Dean might be.

It had been three days without any word of Dean. 

The phones had been ringing off their hooks, not surprising given that Bobby had called, begged, and threatened everyone who had every thought to call Bobby for a favor over the years. It was time to call in everything owed to him and then some. He had every known hunter in the continental US looking for Dean. And so far, they had nothing. 

He listened as Sam eased out the screen door behind him. Nothing was said as Sam stood next to him, his own eyes wandering the horizon. It had been a rough few days and Sam’s post-concussion status had only made things more difficult. 

He had been stuck in a loop of “find Dean” for the first day, making it impossible for Bobby to turn his back on Sam for even a minute. Bobby had finally yanked the battery out of every running car in the yard and locked all the gates. But that hadn’t stopped Sam from wandering out in the yard at night, calling out Dean’s name loud enough to raise the dead. Bobby had finally coaxed Sam into sleeping in the panic room, locking him in after Bobby knew he had drifted to sleep, so that he himself could get some much needed sleep.

That had just been the first day. 

Day two had ended with Sam dogging Bobby around the house, unable to recall how long Dean had been gone. It had been exasperating for the older man. He knew the after effects from a concussion could take days, sometimes even weeks or months to fully disappear. Considering that Sam had experienced them before, the recovery time could take even longer. His confusion and mood swings were hard to handle and Bobby was beginning to wonder if he should have left Sam in the hospital, even if it was more for Bobby’s sanity than Sam’s wellbeing. 

Bobby found relief on the third morning when he had found Sam in the kitchen making coffee. Without being asked, Sam had offered up his name, their exact location and coordinates, and the date and time. Bobby hadn’t said anything, just clapped him on the shoulder and headed for the books. He knew Sam was still mad at him for letting Dean loose and he wasn’t about to step in the path of his temper. Sam had sat at Bobby’s desk most of the day, silently pouring through books while Bobby answered the phones. Not much was said as the day had progressed. Bobby had gotten more frustrated with every worthless phone call he received and Sam had gotten increasingly somber with every volume he set aside. 

Now they were headed into day four. 

“What do we do,” Sam asked without looking at him. “We can’t just sit on our asses and wait.”

Bobby nodded his agreement. “You tried calling Castiel?”

Sam nodded. “Every hour on the hour, but he’s not responding. Hate to say it, but it looks like we’re on our own.”

Bobby huffed his disapproval. “You’d think he could get his feathery ass down here to help find the man he saved from Hell.”

“You’d think so, but angels—well, in Dean’s own words—are just a bunch of dicks,” Sam said with a faint smile. “Maybe we should try summoning him.”

Bobby headed back into the house. “Now you’re using your noggin.”

Once they had everything laid out, Sam recited the well-known words. 

Nothing happened. 

Bobby and Sam peered around the room, their brows furrowed in confusion. “Can an angel refuse to respond to a summoning,” Sam asked. 

“Didn’t think so,” Bobby mumbled as he flipped through the pages, looking for an answer. “Maybe he’s in battle and can’t right now.”

Sam dropped onto the couch and sighed. “So much for that then.”

“What if something demonic has Dean,” Bobby mused. “He wasn’t possessed, obviously, but what if Crowley needed Dean for something?” 

Sam’s demeanor changed instantly. “Like what?”

“I don’t know; do I look like a smug demon who sits up all night making plans for the righteous man?”

Sam snorted at the image. 

“Alternatively to calling on Castiel, we could call up Crowley.”

Sam looked at Bobby in disbelief. “Wait. You’re serious?”

“You’re the one who said we can’t sit here on our asses. We could at least see if he knows anything.”

“And what happens if Crowley takes it upon himself to find Dean first? What then,” Sam asked. 

“How else can we know that Crowley doesn’t already have Dean,” Bobby asked with a frown. “Can we take the risk of not knowing?”

Sam stood from the couch. “I’ll start getting the stuff. You get the devil’s trap where you want it.”

It didn’t take long for them to be ready. Salt and holy water in hand, Bobby tossed the match into the bowl, sending a plume of smoke to the ceiling. He gazed through the smoke and almost sighed in relief when he saw the well-known silhouette. At least something had worked right. 

He moved to stand in front of his desk; Sam at his side with his arms crossed and a frown on his face. 

Crowley turned slowly in the devil’s trap, the look of thinly veiled disdain in his smile. “Been awhile, boys.”

“Not long enough,” Sam spat. 

“That hurts, Moose,” Crowley cooed in his smooth voice. He looked from Sam to Bobby before gazing around the rest of room. “Where’s the missing stooge?”

Bobby cleared his throat. “That’s why you’re here.”

A look of pleasant surprise crept across Crowley’s face. “Oh really? Do tell.”

“He’s missing,” Sam blurted out. “Do you have him?”

Crowley smiled coolly and twisted his cane in his hand. “I can’t tell you much I wish I could say yes to that. But no, sadly, I don’t have your trained monkey in a cold, dark cell somewhere in the depths of Hell. Maybe next time I’ll have better luck than…whoever did you say took him?”

Bobby narrowed his eyes and stared at the possessed man, tapping the flask of holy water against his leg. “We didn’t.”

Crowley shrugged. “That’s too bad. I could have—“

“Sam. Bobby.” A monotone voice rang out from behind them; they both turned quickly and found Castiel standing behind the desk, a look on his face that could almost have been taken for displeasure. 

“Cas, we’ve been calling you for—“

“I heard you, Sam.”

“Then why the hell didn’t you get down here sooner,” Bobby snapped angrily. 

“The war in Heaven rages on and I am needed.”

“Don’t give me that bull crap,” Bobby exclaimed. “We needed your help! Dean needs your help!”

“I have not received any recent prayers from Dean,” Castiel stated. “Therefore—“

“We, Cas— Bobby and I—we needed you. For Dean,” Sam said, interrupting. 

“Why did you summon both myself and the King of Hell simultaneously,” Cas asked, staring curiously across the room at Crowley. 

“Cause you weren’t answering us,” Sam said with a shrug. 

“Tsk, tsk, tsk. Sounds like someone isn’t being a team player,” Crowley said with a smirk as he gazed at the angel. 

Castiel glowered across the room at him. 

Well, it certainly looks like you boys can sort this out on your own now that your little angel decided to show up. I’ll just be on my way then,” Crowley said as he toed the line of the devil’s trap. “Someone get the door for me?”

Bobby turned and pointed a finger at him, anger in his eyes. “Not on your life. Not until we’re done.”

Castiel gazed around the room and finally noticed the obvious absence. “Where is Dean?”

Sam sighed and ran a hand over his tired, stubbly face. “That’s what we’re trying to figure out, Cas. He’s missing.”

“For how long?”

“For as long as we’ve been calling your name out,” Bobby snapped. 

“Bobby, I sense your anger; however, I have far greater responsibilities than keeping tabs on a man prone to trouble,” Castiel said, standing to his full height and staring down at Bobby. 

“Cas, come on man. Give us five minutes of your time. This is Dean we’re talking about here,” Sam pleaded. 

Castiel sighed and disappeared. 

“Balls! Where did he go this time,” Bobby spat angrily. 

“Eh, angels,” Crowley said with a carefree shrug. “Can’t easily kill them. Can’t seem to do without them these days. I would hate to be one of your lot right about now.”

“Shut up, Crowley,” Sam muttered. 

Suddenly Castiel reappearing in front of Sam, startling him and forcing him to take a step back. 

“I do not see him anywhere,” Castiel stated with a shake of his head. 

“What do you mean,” Sam asked in disbelief, his exhaustion beginning to show. “You have to be able to find him!”

“But as I just said, I do not see Dean anywhere,” Castiel replied. His monotone voice, void of any concern for Dean instantly infuriated Sam. 

“Look again, Cas,” Sam demanded loudly, impatiently. “You have to find him!”

“There would be no point, Sam. He is not anywhere I am able to see; therefore, I am unable to assist you. I am needed in Heaven now,” Castiel replied, his head tilted slightly to one side. “I will do my best to resume my search once things in Heaven cease to need my immediate attention.”

He was gone in an instant. 

Sam sighed and dropped against the desk, a look of defeat on his face. 

“Oh come now, Gigantor, no reason to go around like someone kicked your puppy,” Crowley said with a crooked grin. “Just because your angel was worthless to you, doesn’t mean I will be.”

Sam didn’t say anything as Bobby stepped in front of him. “Why would you help us find him?”

“Well, I’m not about to expend valuable resources to find your missing Ken doll without some sort of prior negotiations,” Crowley said smugly as he patted his breast pocket. “Have a pen handy?”

“No one is signing anything from you, you piece of shit,” Bobby snapped as he stood tall over the man in the circle. “I can leave you in there to rot! You want out, you’re going to need to start negotiating with us.”

Crowley’s eyes narrowed. “Have it your way. I can sit here for an eternity, until this old heap falls down around us all. Or until my people come looking for me, which they will soon enough.”

Bobby and Sam didn’t move from their places, each lost in their own thoughts. Bobby eventually dropped into his desk chair and began to read while Sam collapsed into a heap on the couch. The evening slipped into night, Crowley hummed to himself as the outside world darkened. It was hours past midnight when Bobby caught himself staring over the top of the book at Crowley. 

Their eyes met and a small grin crossed Crowley’s face. “You have the look of a man about to make a deal.”

“Fat chance,” Bobby snorted. He glanced at Sam, snoring slightly as he slept. “What about you? You ready to make a deal yet?”

Crowley’s smile grew. “Is that desperation, I detect? I know you and Sam are a tad attached to the troublemaker, but being desperate to find him? That’s just a weak spot waiting to be exploited.”

Bobby slowly rose from his chair and walked out of the room; he returned a minute later with a beer in his hand and was surprised to find Crowley sitting in his chair. 

Bobby glanced from Crowley’s smug face to the now broken devil’s trap. He felt another wave of frustration roll over him; first Dean was appearing and disappearing all over the damn country, then Castiel wouldn’t appear for a summoning, and now Crowley was finding ways to break out of devil traps. Something wasn’t adding up. “Don’t suppose you want to tell me how you got out of there?”

Crowley smirked. “A business associate stopped by unexpectedly. He found my current restraint a hindrance to our arrangement.”

Bobby shook his head and tossed the cap from the beer onto the desk. “This day just gets better and better. But I must say I’m surprised you bothered to hang around. Makes me think you’ve got something to say.”

“I thought you should know that your hospitality is lacking…with the devil trap and all…And that while I was telling the truth about not having your precious Dean, I will find him soon enough. And when I do find him, expect the cost of his return to be exponentially higher than you can afford.”

“Lot of talk from the demonic piece of crap that has yet to get out of my house,” Bobby said as he motioned to the door. 

As quick as Bobby could blink, Crowley was gone. 

Bobby dropped back into his chair and grabbed another book to look through. He tossed one to Sam; it landed right next to the couch with a loud thud. 

“Dean,” Sam said loudly as he suddenly bolted upright, his eyes still glazed over from sleep. 

“Nothing yet but we’ve got to double our efforts to find him,” Bobby said. “Go start another pot of coffee.”

It was going to be another long night. 

Elsewhere

Deep down he knew something was wrong. 

Each time his mom ruffled his hair, something tickled the back of his brain, telling him he was forgetting something. 

The coolness of her touch made him cringe. Hadn’t she always been warm?

Yet each time the music started again, he smiled and took her hand, leading them to join the others.

The bright light from the full moon illuminated the grassy hillside, while paper lanterns glowed in the trees nearby. The group gathered time and time again to dance where the moonlight touched the ground. Time passed by unnoticed until the first bit of morning light broke across the far horizon. Some of the dancers hurried into the trees with their partners, hand in hand, and disappeared under the dark canopy. Dean watched the morning light dance on the far horizon and glanced towards the couples disappearing into the trees. He sighed with something close to desire and stared after them. 

“You want to follow them?” 

Dean tore his eyes away from the dark trees looming only a few yards away and glanced at Mary. He nodded slowly. “Yeah.”

“You can.”

Dean took a step towards the trees. 

“You’ll need to eat first,” Mary said as she took his hand and led him toward a nearby table that he hadn’t noticed. He sank into one of the wooden chairs and glanced at the collection of people surrounding the table. Everyone was smiling and laughing, but few words were exchanged by anyone. For each of the young men seated at the table, there was a woman by his side. 

He frowned as the nearby music faded. 

No sound permeated the trees and only the sound of a few men talking covered the dead silence that seemed to be creeping upon them. 

Only when Dean turned to his right and found the chair empty did he realize something was missing. He stared down at it the chair and frowned. 

“Sam.”

Mary’s face froze briefly before she forced her smile wider. “Who?”

“Sam,” he repeated, suddenly confused as he glanced around slowly. “Where is Sam?”

“We don’t need to worry about Sam,” she said soothingly as she patted his arm. “Let’s choose something to eat. We’ve had a long night and you must be hungry.”

He stared at the feast piled high before him. She pushed a small pastry into his hand and smiled at him. “Eat. If you want to follow everyone else, you have to eat. Once you do, you and I can take a walk into the woods.” 

He turned the warm pastry over in his hand, its sweet smell permeating the air. He hadn’t felt this good…this loved… since….he couldn’t even remember how long. Not since he was little…He smiled warmly at her. He remembered her face. 

It had smiled down at him throughout his early childhood. 

It had that often returned in his dreams. 

And it often came with nightmares…and fire. 

He turned and looked at her again, his heart skipping a beat. Something was wrong...something didn’t make sense. 

He reached out to touch her blonde hair before whispering, “But you died…”

As the words slipped past his lips, silence over took the table. The others at the long table turned and stared at him. 

A woman near the end of the table stood and pointed at him. “He needs to eat. Now.”

“He was just about to,” Mary replied, her voice suddenly sharp. 

He felt a small tug of worry pull at his mind and looked at his mom for clarity. 

She took his hand and smiled. “Dean, I’m right here with you. I didn’t die. I’ve been here the whole time waiting for you to come and dance with me.”

Her blonde curls framed her face beautifully. The softness of her smile and eyes…he couldn’t take his eyes off of her; he slowly nodded. Why would he have ever thought she had died? She was right here. 

He turned the pastry over his hand again, the smell of it made his stomach growl in hunger. 

“You need to eat,” she said with an encouraging smile. “You’ve been here a long while and haven’t eaten yet.”

He knew he was hungry. He couldn’t remember the last time he had eaten. The smell of the pastry tickled his nose again…he knew it somehow…he had smelled it before. He tried to rack his brain, but it was as if he couldn’t get a hold on his thoughts. 

He glanced towards the dark, silent trees; his stomach suddenly rolled with worry… something wasn’t quite right, but what? 

“Where is….”

“There is no one else, Dean. There’s just you and me.”

“What about—“

“Eat, Dean. You’ll understand everything later. Right now, you’re tired and hungry. Let us take care of you.”

Dean stared into her eyes and nodded slowly, trying to swallow the lump in his throat. He lifted the pastry to his mouth, the smell once more tickling his nose. 

His mouth dried instantly as he suddenly remembered where he had smelled it before …Washington…Bobby’s house…Bobby… Sam. Where were they?

He stood suddenly, the food falling from his hand. He looked at the people at the table, trying to piece everything together. 

“I don’t know you… any of you…Sam. I need Sam.”

Mary was at his side instantly. “No.” 

Her voice was cold, heartless. 

Dean stared at her face, the morning light finally reaching where they stood. As the light touched her face, she took a step back into the shade. Something about her face was wrong…her eyes. They were darkening. 

Dean took a step away from her. “You’re not my mom.”

A smile passed over her face, freezing in place. “Of course I am, Dean. You can stay here with me, if you try.” She motioned for him to come to her. 

Dean took another step away from her. “No. I’m not going anywhere with you.”

The smile on her face disappeared as she took a step toward him. As she stepped into the morning light, she began to change. She grew thin and lanky, her skin taking on an inhuman paleness. Her blonde hair gave way to short shaggy black hair. 

Dean froze as she quickly closed the gap between them; she grabbed his arm tightly and lifted him off the ground. 

“What are you,” Dean choked out as the grip on his arm tightened painfully. His arm was pulsating with pain. 

“It no longer matters,” it said with a gravelly voice that surprised Dean. “We did our best to offer you the easy path, like the others. Now we will do this our way.”

“We? Our? Looks like its only you and me out here now,” Dean said through gritted teeth. 

As dozens of similar creatures stepped onto the shadowy line that separated the now bright hillside from the forest, Dean swallowed the lump in his throat. “Sonovabitch.”


	8. Close Encounters

Sioux Falls, South Dakota

Sam stared at the calendar hanging on the wall across the room from where he sat. He had marked through each day that Dean had been missing. They were on day nine. Sunset was less than an hour away and the darkening of the room only hastened Sam’s escalating anxiety. 

Not a single phone call had panned out. No one had seen or heard from Dean. 

Each time Sam had prayed to Castiel, or anyone else who might be listening, he felt himself become a little more desperate, a little more hopeless. 

Bobby stood in the doorway of the room, watching Sam. The silence that had settled over the house was starting to rattle his nerves. They had looked through nearly every book Bobby owned and he knew Sam was starting to feel the weight of the empty space Dean had left behind. 

He watched as another minute passed, Sam continued to stare at the damn calendar without even so much as blinking. If it hadn’t been for Sam’s rapid breathing, Bobby would have been worried. 

“You need some sleep,” Bobby said, breaking into Sam’s silent stare down. 

“I’m not tired,” Sam mumbled as he tore his eyes off of the calendar and tried to turn his attention back to the forgotten book in his hand. “You might as well go ahead up.”

Bobby frowned and glanced at the clock. “Sam, by my count, you’ve been awake for 31 hours. You need to get some sleep.”

“I wasn’t tired then either. I’ve got to keep looking for anything will help us find Dean. We had to have missed something,” Sam murmured as he reached for a book on the floor. He tipped forward awkwardly in the chair and had to catch himself on the edge of the desk.

“Sam,” Bobby said gently. “Just go to bed, son. You’re exhausted.”

He refused to look up at Bobby, ignoring his near tumble to the floor. “I’ll sleep later.”

“Later when? After you fall down in an exhausted heap? You had a concussion just over a week ago. You need to get some rest,” Bobby insisted. 

Sam ran a hand over his stubbly face and groaned in frustration. “Can we just not do this right now, Bobby?”

“Do what? Talk about your refusal to eat? To sleep? To do anything that a normal human might need to do in order to survive? Dammit Sam, you’ve got to take a break from all this,” Bobby snapped. Sam hadn’t responded to his more polite insistences to get some rest, maybe now it was time to start being a little more demanding. He cleared his throat and spoke. “Sam, sleep. Now. I’ll keep looking for something.”

Sam stiffened when he heard the command in Bobby’s voice. He locked eyes with Bobby but didn’t get out of the chair. 

Bobby didn’t blink; his stance firm. 

He could see the tremble in Sam’s hand as he tried to keep a firm hold on his book; even more noticeable were the unshed tears in his eyes. His pale, stubbly face made the lines under his eyes look even more pronounced; the stitches still in his brow looked dark against his sickly pallor. Bobby knew that under his flannel shirt he was still sporting bruises from his concussion induced car accident. Sam was teetering on the brink of a full on collapse, emotional and physical. 

If Sam wouldn’t stop, Bobby would have to make him. 

“Sam,” he barked loudly, making Sam jump in his chair. “You get your ass in bed.”

Sam slumped in his chair, his expression caught between defiance and defeat. “Bobby…”

“Don’t ‘Bobby’ me! That puppy dog face might work on your brother, but I’m immune,” Bobby stated with a shake of his head. “You’ve got to get some rest. When we get a lead on your brother, you’re going to need to be able to help.”

“I’ve got to find him, Bobby,” Sam said, his voice cracking in desperation. 

“We will,” Bobby said confidently. “But right now, you need some sleep.”

“I can’t,” Sam mumbled, his eyes suddenly glued to his hands. 

“Can’t or won’t,” Bobby asked firmly. 

“Is there a difference,” Sam asked with a tired shrug. 

“Bet your ass there is,” Bobby said as he pulled a bottle from his pocket. He hefted it in his hand, the contents rattling inside. 

“If you won’t sleep, it’s just a matter of me slipping one of these into your coffee. Now, if you can’t sleep, it’s just a matter of you choosing to open this bottle and taking one,” Bobby said as he set it on the desk in front of Sam. “I’ll get the coffee while you decide how we’re going to do this. Either way, you’re going to get some sleep.”

Sam stared at the bottle in front of him, his tired eyes blurring the label. Not that it mattered, he trusted Bobby. He knew he needed sleep, but every time he closed his eyes he was rattled awake by some terrifying image of Dean laying on the side of the road, or stumbling through the desert, or worse…

He rubbed a hand over his burning eyes and tried to think of how to handle Bobby’s constant nagging about him needing sleep and to eat. He had to find Dean. If he was the one missing, Dean wouldn’t stop looking, even for a minute. Hell, when he had died, Dean hadn’t thought twice about selling his soul to get him back. And yet here he was, sitting in a comfy chair, in a warm house, while Dean was God knows were…he had to find him. 

Maybe if Sam had gone to the bar with him back in New Mexico… if only Sam had managed to grab hold of him the first time he had started levitating off of Bobby’s couch…if Sam had stopped Dean from being pulled right out of the house, right in front of him…if Sam could have kept Bobby from letting Dean go…

The guilt was more than he could take. 

Bobby walked back into the room and immediately stopped in his tracks. Sam had silent tears running down his face. Bobby hurried to him and set the coffee on the desk before wrapping his arms around Sam. The sheer touch was enough to break down Sam’s last reserve of dignity; the sound that escaped his mouth was almost inhuman. As Bobby steered Sam towards the couch, he could tell Sam had been skipping more meals than he had realized. 

After getting Sam’s boots unlaced, Bobby tossed them aside. Sam’s paleness made him look almost ethereal against the dark pillowcase. Bobby reached for the book in his hands but Sam pulled it away from him, his knuckles white from his grip on the faded cover. 

“I have to keep looking,” Sam murmured tiredly as he tried to keep his grip on the book. 

“You want something to help you sleep,” Bobby asked quietly. 

Sam shook his head and tightened his grip on the book in his hand when Bobby tried to ease it from his fingers. “Don’t.”

Bobby let the book slip from his fingers and watched as Sam cradled it to his chest. Bobby sighed and stared at the younger man before tossing a blanket over him. “Get some sleep. I’ll get back to the books.”

After hours of watching Sam toss and turn, only to bolt awake as whimpers of one nightmare after another fought their way through his lips, Bobby didn’t even hesitate as he spun the cap off the bottle and shook two of the perfectly white tablets into his hand. He silently walked across the room and touched Sam’s shoulder. Sam opened his blood shot eyes and looked miserably up at Bobby. 

Bobby opened his hand, palm up, in front of Sam. “Even Dean has to sleep sometimes.”

Sam took the pills with shaking hands and dry swallowed them before turning over, his back towards Bobby. It took less than twenty minutes before Bobby could see the difference in the young man. His tossing slowed to nothing and the sound of his relaxed breathing filled the room. 

Once Bobby tucked the blanket back around Sam, he headed for the front door, keys tight in his grip. He paused for a second to look back at him, hoping Sam wouldn’t wake up before he returned. 

“Sorry, kid. But we’re running out of options. It’s time to step up our game.”

54°16'53.93"S 36°30'30.38"W

“Quite the accommodations you’ve managed to pick out for yourself, Castiel,” Crowley said as he turned and surveyed the bleak landscape. In the near distance, he could see the remains of an abandoned village. The wind whipped his jacket around him, his cheeks red from the cold air.

“We needed to talk and no one comes here,” Castiel said by way of explanation. 

“I can see why,” Crowley said with a frown. “I would have preferred somewhere a bit more refined. This kind of inhospitable terrain makes Hell look downright warm and comfortable.”

“Crowley, it is most imperative that our dealings are kept out of sight,” Castiel said firmly. “It would be most unfortunate for either one of us if our arrangements were discovered.”

“I know that, you twit,” Crowley snapped. “Now, I’m a busy demon and you’re a busy angel, so what did you zap me out here for now?”

“Have you heard anything concerning the whereabouts of Dean Winchester,” Castiel asked as he closely studied Crowley’s face. He knew that partners or not, the demon would lie to him. 

Crowley frowned. “Not a bloody peep.”

“Are you sure?”

“That really hurts my feelings,” Crowley crooned sarcastically. “Just because I have the most to gain from him going missing, you think I’d hide his carcass somewhere? You know me. I like the theatrics and drama. If I had him, I’d let everyone know and then gut him while they watched.”

Castiel considered his statement and nodded. “I believe that you would.”

“Dean isn’t even part of our plans for Purgatory, why are we spending valuable time talking about this,” Crowley asked with an irritated shrug. 

“Sam and Bobby are constantly praying to me and it is most distracting. I will not able to avoid them forever,” Castiel explained. “It would be better to expend resources into finding Dean and to return him to them. They have been most diligent in their search for him; I would not want them to inadvertently stumble upon our plans. He needs to be found and I am far too busy with the war raging in Heaven.”

“Are you insinuating that you want me to send my people to find and retrieve Dean bloody Winchester,” Crowley asked with an annoyed frown. “Don’t get me wrong, I always have my people on the lookout for him and Sam, but if he’s found by my people and then I just give him back to Sam and Bobby… without having some sort of obvious vantage point it’s going to undermine my authority in Hell. Besides, we have far more important things to be working on right now.”

Castiel leaned over the smaller man, his face stern and authoritative. “I will be the one to determine who and what are worth our time. Find him, I have work to do.” 

Else Where Unknown 

He woke with a violent shiver that wracked his entire body. 

A bitter breeze swept past him as he tried to take stock of where he was. The last thing he remembered was being chased through the dark woods, shrill screams echoing from the shadows. When he had stumbled into a small clearing, he had realized his mistake. He ended up right where they had wanted him; they had used his fear and confusion to herd him right into their camp. 

Dean tried to roll to his side as a wave of nausea assailed him but he found he was unable to move more than a few inches in either direction. His eyes flew open in panic. 

He was in a small shack; the thatch roof was barely more than twelve inches from his face making him fight back a wave of claustrophobia. The wooden pallet he was lying on dug painfully into his back; he was tied in place with a roots and vines. He could hear talking nearby and weakly lifted his head to try and see anything helpful. 

As he saw the rest of the dimly lit room, another shiver raced through him, this time from fear. 

He was one of dozens of men, all tied in place. The pallets were stacked, much like bunk beds, and filled the entire shack. He twisted his head around and looked below his own pallet, a man lay beneath him. He tried to calculate the number of pallets in the filthy shack; he guessed there were nearly a hundred men in all. 

He dropped his head back in the pallet and stared up at the thatch roof. He could hear rain dripping on the roof and cringed as it started to slowly drip on him through the thatch. He shivered again from the cold and tried to hold back a cough that was trying to rip its way out of his lungs. 

Around him, the noise came in waves. Some men laughed and smiled deliriously while they held conversations with people unseen. Other men were silent and still, apparently unaware of their surroundings. 

“Hey,” Dean called out lightly to the silent man lying on the pallet next to his. They were barely twelve inches apart but Dean knew there was no way he could reach out to him. 

“Hey! Can you hear me?”

The man drunkenly rolled his head toward Dean and mumbled something unintelligent. Dean pulled back at the sight of the man’s eyes. They were milky white. 

“Blind,” Dean mumbled. “What the hell?”

A nearby squeal combined with the sound of something being gutted made Dean freeze and fall silent. 

The room was filled with murky light as the shack’s door opened. A tall lanky figure walked through the low door and started a slow walk down the pathway that ran between the rows of pallets. The dirt floor made its footsteps silent. Dean watched as it stopped at each man and placed a small item in their mouth. Dean stared at the men, confused that not a single one of them turned away from the creature. As it held out its hand, each man in turn opened his mouth and accepted the small offering. 

As the creature grew ever closer to him, the familiar sweet smell wafted past him, making his stomach growl with want. He had no clue how long he had been here, much less how long it had been since he had eaten. He swallowed dryly as he remembered the creature that had worn his mother’s likeness and pressured him to eat while at the banquet table. As hungry as he was, he had a bad feeling about whatever it was these creatures were handing out.

Dean could feel his heart drumming in his chest and he drew a shaky breathe to try and calm the pounding in his ears. He closed his eyes as the creature made its way down the path and stopped next to him. He fought back bile as its blistering hot and foul breath filled his lungs. He jumped when something grabbed his jaw and forced him to turn his face. He opened his eyes, more from curiosity than from bravery. 

He tried not to panic as he looked into dark eyes; they were nearly black and bigger than a human’s. The size of its eyes made the creature’s face seem even more gaunt and angular. 

“What are you,” Dean choked out around his uncontrollable shivering. He was freezing. 

The creature said nothing it turned and shoved a small papery wafer into his mouth. Dean choked and spit it out. The creature shook its head, an uncanny humanistic trait, and said in a gravelly voice, “You would be wise to accept our offering. Better to believe the lie than to know the truth, young one.”

It walked silently away and disappeared out of the shack. 

Dean shook from fear and the cold and returned to watching the rain trickle in through the thatch roof. 

“Cas, if you can hear me, I need some help…”


	9. Something Wicked

Vermillion, South Dakota

Bobby stared through the dusty windshield of his old, battered Chevelle; the neon lights flashing overhead reminding him of the many times he had come here in the past. There were some places he had never wanted to return to and this place was no exception. The small one story building was still as old and dilapidated as he remembered. It was one of the more seedy places he had set foot in over the years; but while some were no more than a blip in his memory, this one always got under his skin. He had made some regrettable deals here, and he had sworn years ago he would never come back. He grimaced as he slid his pistol under the driver’s seat. There was no point in taking any weapons in with him; he wouldn’t get past the door if he was armed. No, the only thing he needed in order to enter the building was cash and lots of it. 

His fist curled around the roll of hundreds in his jacket pocket, hefting it in his hand for a moment; wondering if it would enough to get in. Not that it would matter, if it wasn’t enough, he’d burn the place down to flush out the one person he needed. 

He slid out of the car and slammed the door behind him, catching the attention of the man standing in front of the door. Bobby ignored the few people loitering around the door and went straight for the tall, dark man standing in front of the door. 

“Ah, Bobby Singer,” the man said as Bobby stepped in front of him. “We haven’t seen you around these parts of a long, long time.”

“Doyle, you haven’t seen me anywhere in ages, you blind fool,” Bobby quipped, his tone casual even though his body language said this meeting was far from it. 

A crooked smile graced Doyle’s face as he removed his dark glasses, revealing his cataract covered eyes. “And I remember now why I never missed you. Now, what brings such a morally ridden hunter back to our tables? You lose someone tonight?”

“I need to see Charlotte,” Bobby ground out. 

Doyle stared down at him. Even with the murkiness of his eyes, Bobby could feel the man looking right into him. “You sure about that, Singer? Charlotte isn’t in the mood to haggle over prices these days.”

Bobby held out the tightly rolled bundle of bills and placed it in Doyle’s outstretched hand. “Neither am I.”

Doyle hefted the money in his hand before nodding; he pocketed the cash and stepped aside from the door. “You remember the way?”

“Like a nightmare I can’t forget,” Bobby snapped as he yanked the door open and disappeared into the darkness. 

It took a minute for Bobby’s eyes to adjust to the dim lighting. Tables were scattered around the dark red room; the bar wrapping around the back of the large room. People sat scattered amongst the room, dice and cards littering the tables. 

It was quiet, except for the occasional clinking of glasses, the shuffling of cards, and the low murmur of voices. No one except the dealers looked up from the tables, grim smiles on each of their faces. Bobby huffed and adjusted his cap before heading towards to the black door that stood at the back of the room. Anyone who could afford to get in the front door could talk to Charlotte, but most couldn’t outright afford her services. She had expensive taste. 

He didn’t hesitate as he pushed the black door open and entered the small room. It reeked of incense; the room was murky from its haze. He approached the low table in the middle of the room and dropped unceremoniously into the oversized black armchair. He surveyed the room, it looked innocent enough but he knew Charlotte. She would have the advantage. 

He was pulled from his thoughts as someone in the room cleared their throat. He remained reserved and didn’t show his surprise, although he had been fairly certain he had been alone when he had entered the room. Charlotte, always with a trick up her sleeve; she was more slippery than any snake he knew. He gazed through the incense laden fog and saw her sitting right across from him, her dark features blending into the bleakness of the room. 

“Bobby Singer,” she crooned from her own chair. “It’s been awhile. What’s got you slumming this time of night?”

Bobby frowned at her, his impatience and anger boiling underneath. “I don’t have time for your bullshit tonight, Charlotte. I need some answers and so far….”

“And so far, you’re shit out of luck,” Charlotte stated knowingly as she glared over the table at him. Her eyes burned into him. “If there were easy answers, you wouldn’t be here.”

He didn’t say anything as she smiled coolly. 

“And if you wanted cheap answers, you wouldn’t dare bother me,” she said scathingly. 

Bobby sat silent, wondering what this would cost him. 

“Oh this must be good,” she mused as she leaned towards him, her face illuminated by the low hanging globe between them. “What could it be? You lost someone…No, that couldn’t be it…you’ve got no one left to lose…Someone died on your watch…Now Bobby, that’s just a hazard of the job…no point in crying over spilled milk.”

Bobby looked up and locked eyes with her; she smiled wickedly before speaking again. “Whatever it is, it’ll cost you.”

“How much you want,” he demanded as he adjusted his cap. “I’ve got cash.”

“I’m done with cash deals, Bobby Singer. I want something money can’t buy,” she said, suddenly serious. 

“No,” he said as he stood to leave. “Cash or nothing.”

“I’m not asking for your soul,” she mused as she leaned back comfortably in the chair. “I could buy all the souls a girl could ever want, you know that.”

Bobby walked slowly to the door, wanting nothing more than to leave Charlotte’s company yet praying she would catch him before he walked out the door. Once he left, he wouldn’t come back. Ever. 

He was turning the doorknob when she spoke. 

“Fine, I’ll make an exception for old time’s sake,” she snapped. 

“And the price,” he asked with his back to her, his voice dripping with authority. 

“A favor,” she said. 

Bobby turned and stared at her. “What kind of favor?”

“The kind a girl like me might need one day,” she stated as she lit another stick of the foul incense. “Maybe I’ll need a hunter to forgo killing me one day; with a reputation like yours, surely you could keep me alive with one phone call. Maybe I’ll ask you to tell someone about me, someone important; someone who needs a deal and doesn’t quite know where to strike one.”

Bobby considered her offer. It was almost reasonable; far more reasonable than other deals she had made in the past. He returned to his chair and caught her attention. 

“Agreed,” he muttered. “But only if you come through on your end of the deal.”

“So, Bobby,” she said with a smirk. “What exactly do you need? Someone raised from the dead? A soul found? Or better yet….someone killed? Revenge, maybe? I’ve been doing a lot of revenge deals lately—“

“No,” Bobby snapped. “Dean Winchester keeps getting taken by something. First it seemed innocent enough but then it evolved into something else. Every time he comes back, he can’t remember what happened and each time he’s in worse shape. This is the longest he’s been gone and we’ve looked everywhere, read everything.”

Charlotte listened with her head cocked to one side, her eyes flicking back and forth over his face as he spoke. “And?”

“We need him found,” Bobby explained. “You give me a location of where he’s at, we’ll do the rest.”

“Bobby, cut the shit. If he was anywhere you could get to, you’d be able to find him yourself and you wouldn’t need my help…Just how far did you look for him?”

Bobby frowned and tapped his knee with his hand. “Far enough that we confirmed that the King of Hell doesn’t have him and that he’s also far enough out of sight that Heaven can’t spot him either.”

Charlotte paused at his answer. “Crowley…not sure I would trust him on that but we’ll see. As for your Heavenly connection, maybe you should introduce us sometime.”

Bobby smirked this time. “He burned the eyes out the last psychic he met.”

Charlotte glared at him before shrugging. “Anyhow, what are you asking me to do? Find him? Or shake him loose from whatever’s got him?”

“Either. Both, preferably. I need him alive,” Bobby stated. 

“If he’s even alive when I find him…,” Charlotte said as she settled back in her chair. “I don’t do refunds.”

“You never were funny,” Bobby muttered under his breath. 

“You bring me what I need,” Charlotte asked. 

“I know the drill,” Bobby said as he placed the small leather pouch in her hand. It looked remarkable like a hex bag but Bobby had made this especially for Charlotte. It contained the traditional items she would need; an odd and unpleasant collection of Dean’s hair, blood, and the final touch: a small token that represented Bobby in Dean’s life. Something that connected them beyond all else, Bobby had finally settled on something small and well used: a bottle cap. Over the years, he and Dean had shared many bottles of whiskey and beer, sometimes after a day gone well, other times during a grueling patch up after a bad hunt, even more often just to grease the wheels of a rough conversation. 

Charlotte smirked as she turned the bag over in her hand. “A bit sappier than most but nice touch, Singer.”

Bobby sat back in his chair and waited. Charlotte hated to be rushed and wouldn’t hesitate to have him removed from the room if she felt his impatience was going to distract her. In her trade, time was money and she had a never ending line of people willing to pay her. He shivered as the room suddenly dipped in temperature, making his breath come out in a puff of fog. He hated this part. It seemed wrong and unnatural. Not that anything they dealt with was ever natural…

He watched her suddenly become rigid in her chair, looking every bit like a frozen statue; he knew that she’d be freezing to the touch. Her eyes glazed over just as they turned white. Not even breathe escaped her red lips. She looked like something he needed to salt and burn, and honestly, one day he expect to. This was something he hated, the look of death that always settled over her when she stepped out of her body. He had asked her once, a long time ago, how she did what she did. Her explanation still made his skin crawl. 

It was a rare thing, to find someone like Charlotte. If she hadn’t been taken in by the allure of the darker side of their community, he would have called on her more often; but as it was the cost her lifestyle and talent made her far out of reach for the everyday problems. 

He glanced at the clock on the wall above her; the hands were motionless. She always had that effect on clocks and timepieces and he had to wonder if it was because she was technically dead or because time ceased to move in the room. Either way, he would have no way of tracking how long she was gone.

He reached around the table and grabbed the bottle of Macallan from the where Charlotte kept her stash. Charlotte always had a bottle somewhere in the room with her, usually used to pry a higher price out of someone, and certainly with the amount of money he had paid her over the years he had earned his own glass of the stuff. He glanced back up the clock and shook his head. This could take hours and he needed to get back to Sam. He wondered how he would explain his sudden disappearance to Sam if he didn’t make it back before Sam woke from his drug induced downtime; he certainly had no intention of telling him where he had really gone. No, Sam and Dean would better off to never encounter Charlotte. They were Winchesters and that meant they would strike a deal with anyone if they felt they needed something badly enough. 

He frowned into his glass at the thought of another argument with Sam. They had exchanged several harsh words throughout the last several days; their fears and frustration over not being able to find Dean had worn through their last bits of patience with each other. He shrugged and settled back into his chair. There was nothing he could do about it now, he had to stay and wait for Charlotte. 

Elsewhere Unknown

“Cas—“

Dean woke from his restless sleep with the name still rolling off of his tongue. Some part of him knew he had been dreaming again, begging and pleading for the angel to rescue him but he was too far out of his head to realize his dreams were no longer playing out silently in his head. Prayers, groans, curses had been tumbling out of his mouth for hours; each more desperate than the last. 

He would have been mortified at the tears lacing trails down his cheeks if he had could have even felt them. He was exhausted and frozen to the bone. Rain constantly dripped through the roof, seeping into his clothing until he was soaked and shivering. It seemed like it never stopped raining here; where ever here was. He fought bile down again and choked from the taste. He had lost track of time, even the number of days he had been in the shack. The light never changed except for when the door opened and closed and he had lost track of even how often that happened. He hadn’t eaten in who knows how long… they, whatever they were, came into the shack often to shove the mouthwateringly fragrant wafers into the men’s open mouths. Dean had watched each time as the men opened their mouths like baby birds, begging to be fed. Before his lucidity had begun to crumble it hadn’t escaped his attention that the men seemed more and more docile after each one. Now his addled memory fought to keep focused; to keep calling for Cas or anyone else who could hear him. Hell, he’d even prayed to Raphael at one point. But no one came to save him from his hunger and the bone aching cold. 

Each time he felt one of the papery, sugary wafers slip into his mouth, he forced himself to fight back his hunger and spit it out. He didn’t know how much longer he could resist them. Each time he woke up on the pallet, he prayed to Castiel. He knew that the last few times had bordered on begging, demanding even, but still no one came to save him. 

He smirked deliriously, envisioning Castiel telling his superiors that he had lost the righteous man while he had been out busy doing some sort of nerdy angel work; no doubt converting strippers into nuns. He heard another growl from nearby and fought to focus. He knew his mind had been wandering. 

He tried to stop his constant shivering. He heard it again and this time he felt the hunger pangs in his stomach. He frowned when he realized that the growling was coming from his own stomach. 

His eyes blurred as the door nearby opened and closed. He could barely see the outline of someone approaching. Someone familiar. Someone he should know. Someone he would never forget. 

“Cas?”

“Who,” a familiar voice asked. Dean stiffened at the sound of the soft, warm voice and forced himself to look at her. 

“Mom,” he asked, trying to fight past the freezing cold and gnawing hunger, trying to find the part of himself that knew she wasn’t there. “You’re not real….”

“Dean,” she said sweetly as she placed a hand on his cheek. 

He found himself pressing into her touch, absorbing her warmth. She pressed her other hand to his forehead and looked at him caringly. “You’re freezing, Dean. Let me help you.”

“Can’t…,” Dean muttered through chattering teeth. He knew she wasn’t there. She had to be a hallucination. But damn if she wasn’t a warm one. He pressed into her hands, trying to focus on the heat and not her eyes. 

“It’s my job. I’m your mom,” she cooed into his ear. 

Dean shook his head and bit back a groan as another wave of nausea assailed him, pain lacing through his abdomen. He felt like someone was trying to rip his guts out through his belly button. 

“Stop,” Dean murmured as he rolled his face away from her. 

She hooked a finger under his chin and turned his head back, forcing him to look at her. “Stop what?”

“Hurts…” Dean hissed through gritted teeth as another wave of pain tore through him, making him pull furtively against the vines and ropes that held him in place. He choked as another wave of pain started, one after the other. It felt like someone was grabbing him, pulling him, tearing at him. He could almost hear someone calling his name; demanding he answer them. 

He felt something touch his lips. His green eyes flew open and locked with Mary’s. “Open up,” she said as she ran the wafer across his lips. “One little bite and you can get down. I’ll find you a warm bed and something warm to eat. You can sleep. You can eat. I’ll be right there looking after you.”

Dean shook his head and pulled away from her touch, tasting blood in his mouth. As another torrent of pain tore through him, the last of his restraint fell away, and his mouth opened to let a loud, pain filled scream tear its way out of his throat. He gagged and choked as he felt something being shoved into his mouth, something sweet and warm. 

He choked in fear and desperately tried to spit the wafer out but Mary held her hand firmly over his mouth and nose, a smile beaming on her face. Her fingers bruised him as she squeezed his face harshly, her inhuman strength betraying her. “Almost there, Dean.”

Tears streaked down his cheeks as his panic and confusion tore at him, making it impossible to breathe. He felt another wave of pain start in his abdomen and felt himself seize against his restraints, unable to stop himself from arching against them. He gagged as the need to swallow and breath grew. 

Dean suddenly felt himself engulfed in an icy grip, one that laced through him. He could hear someone calling his name. He sent one last prayer up to Castiel as he gagged and swallowed the sweet wafer. 

Just as he did, he felt a hard jolt run through him as though someone had physically yanked him by his very soul. He felt the room spin and tilt before he felt himself falling, the room was sailing past him; a loud sob of relief escaped him as he felt the scenery begin to fade away. 

He heard a loud screech and he forced himself to look. Just as the room lost focus, he saw Mary’s face fall away to reveal the creature hidden underneath. 

Vermillion, South Dakota

Bobby was jerked from his meandering thoughts of worry and regret as Charlotte suddenly heaved herself out of her chair. Her breathe moved in and out in short bursts, each one a large puff of cold air. She moved awkwardly, running her hands up and down her arms as though to brush off the freezing temperature that had settled over her. She grabbed Bobby’s glass from the table before filling it to the top and drinking deeply. 

“You get him,” Bobby demanded. He had to know if Dean was alive. 

Charlotte choked on the glass and dropped into the chair. “The price just went way up,” she said through chattering teeth. 

“Did you get him,” Bobby barked, making her jump at the sound. 

She hesitated before nodding. “Yeah, I got him.”

Bobby felt himself relax marginally. “Alive?”

Charlotte’s hands shook as she set the glass down. “I don’t know.”

“What do you mean, you don’t know? You saw him,” Bobby snapped. “You have to know what kind of condition he’s in.”

“I don’t know, Bobby,” Charlotte spat. “I was too busy trying to get us out of there, alright? I didn’t think it was wise to stay and have a chit chat about his wellbeing. You wanted him shaken loose and that’s what I did. Now get out.”

Bobby frowned and stared at the trembling woman. Not much shook Charlotte. “Where was he?”

Charlotte stared into her glass. “I don’t know and I don’t want to know.”

“Bullshit, you saw something! It might be enough that I can figure this problem out,” Bobby said. 

Charlotte said nothing. Bobby sighed and dug into his other pocket. He pulled out a roll of cash and set it on the table between them. “Everything, Charlotte, down to the last nitty-gritty details; I need everything you saw.”

“There were dozens of them—the men. Trussed up like some sort of prisoners…but they were complacent. No one was fighting to get loose. No one was crying out. They just laid there. Waiting…”

“Waiting for what,” Bobby asked, carefully watching her face. 

“I don’t know… nothing good, that’s for certain,” Charlotte replied with a shudder. 

“What had them? Did you see anything that might help me figure out what they are,” Bobby said, trying to coax her elaborate. 

“I don’t know, Bobby. I really don’t. Even if I had taken more time to look, I wouldn’t be able to identify them. I’m not a hunter.”

“So where was this place? How did you find him?”

“He was nowhere I’ve ever been before and I’ll never go back there either. It was dark and damp. It smelled earthy and even though I could see trees I had to distinct feeling that everything there was just a backdrop. Its someplace we’re not meant to find.”

“Real helpful,” Bobby snapped sarcastically. 

I did my job now get out,” Charlotte snapped back as she rose from her chair. 

Bobby stood and headed towards the door, pausing as he turned the knob. “Where did you drop him?”

“Newport News, Virginia.”

“Is it warm,” Bobby asked hopefully.

Charlotte shook her head. “I have no clue but the weather isn’t your biggest problem.”

“What now,” Bobby asked with a grimace. 

“You know Fort Eustis, the Army base that’s there,” Charlotte said, tapering off to silence. 

Bobby groaned. “Charlotte, if you dropped him on a military base…he’s a Winchester! You know better, you might as well just have dropped him smack dab in the middle of the FBI building!”

“It’s not like I just pick some location, Bobby! I shook him loose from where he was and that’s where he ended up! You better just be damn happy that I even know where he ended up. You have the location you wanted, now get out!”

Bobby slipped through the door just as she hurled the glass at the door, shattering into a hundred pieces with a loud crash. He didn’t bother to look at anyone in the room as he hurried towards the door. He had what he came for. Now he just had to find anyone near enough to Dean to find him before the military patrols did.


	10. Army of One

20.5878° S, 174.8103° W 

Crowley hated being summoned. There was never a convenient time to be yanked from one place to the other. He was a busy man, deals to make, deals to collect, lesser demons to bend to his will. All in all, this secret partnership with Castiel was beginning to cut into his day. The angel had no sense of timing. 

“Have you found him,” Castiel asked. 

Crowley turned and surveyed the green landscape before scoffing. “What was the matter with your frozen fortress of solitude? Lose its appeal already, did it?”

Castiel frowned in confusion. “I have no such fortress.”

“Castiel, it’s just a reference—“

“I do not understand,” Castiel stated firmly. 

“You mean that those stooges you hang out with haven’t made you watch Superman,” Crowley asked. He usually hated small talk unless it led to bigger deals; but then the purgatory deal, that was a pretty damn big deal. 

“No,” Castiel snapped. “Now, I will ask you again. Have you found him?”

“Dean, you mean,” Crowley asked he continued to survey the landscape. He reveled in annoying the angel. 

“Unless there is another man I previously asked you to find, then yes, Dean,” Castiel said impatiently. “Have your people found him?”

“No.”

“Are you sure?”

“Of course, I am. You think I’d miss an opportunity to dangle him by a thread in front of his brother?”

Castiel stared over the ocean view. “Keep looking.”

“Can’t you just use your angel skills to find him?”

Crowley frowned and thought back to the day he had placed Enochian symbols on the men’s ribcages. It had kept them off of his superior’s radar, but he had regretted it more than once when he needed to be able to find them. This was becoming one of those times. 

“Just find him.”

Fort Eustis, Newport News, Virginia

Specialist Gloria Johnson frowned as she turned onto the paved road that ran along the James River. She hated being on patrol, even if this road overlooked the ‘ghost fleet’ of retired Naval ships. It was boring, raining, and the only thing she ever found out here was road kill and trash. The only thing that made being on patrol worthwhile was the car—a police issue Impala. 

In fact, the transportation was the only thing she really found to be a perk while in the Army. She could drive anything if it had wheels and even some things that didn’t. Her dad had been a military man back in his youth and she had followed in his footsteps up until his death last year. After lighting his burial pyre she had decided to avoid the hunting aspect of his life; watching her mother fall apart had made Gloria realize she couldn’t possibly put her mother through that again. She’d settle for being an Army Specialist and leave the monster hunting to the orphans in the profession. 

She cursed the windshield wipers as the rain started to fall harder, making the road less visible in the dim morning light. She needed to get transferred. Hawaii, maybe. Or Florida. She was over Virginia. 

She scanned the road ahead of her and went back to glancing along the tree line that bordered the road. Luckily, she was nearly done with her patrol. She smiled about her upcoming weekend plans, two days of no patrol, no uniform, just a few days to sleep, read, and hit the firing range. The only thing that could make her weekend better would be to not have to share barracks. With a huff over housing regulations she turned her focus back to the job. 

After a quick scan of the roadway, she glanced back along the tree line and suddenly slammed the brakes, bringing the car to a screeching halt on the wet road. She threw it in reverse and backed up, using the spotlight to bring something into view. She could see a pair of legs precariously jutting out from underneath the low lying bushes near the road. She grabbed her flashlight and stepped out into the rain, briefly wondering which type of paperwork would take less time to fill out—that of a dead man found on military property or that of a wandering drunk who managed to cross the James River before passing out on military property. Either way, she frowned at the thought of her now ruined weekend. Paperwork— that was one thing hunters didn’t have to deal with. No forms, no signatures. 

With one hand on her 9mm Beretta, she kicked her way through the dead leaves until she was standing over the man. He was silent and unmoving; he was also younger than she would have guessed. She frowned at his ripped shirt and his bare feet, both red and raw. His jeans were ripped and stained. She nudged him with her boot before sighing deep in annoyance. “Can’t exactly handcuff you for trespassing if you’re dead,” she mumbled as she adjusted her flashlight. 

“Just great,” she muttered to herself as she heard thunder crack overhead. Lightning raced above them, illuminating the road and trees. She turned and looked around, finding nothing within sight. No shoes, bottles of booze, no bag, no nothing. She kneeled down and felt for a pulse, pulling back from the iciness of his skin. She found a slow pulse and sighed with relief before standing. She hated the thought of being out here with a dead man. 

“I hope you’ve got a name. I don’t have time for a John Doe, man, I have plans. Big plans to relax this weekend. You know, the kind where you sleep in and eat pop tarts for every meal. I’ve got a friend’s couch to crash on and episodes of Dr. Sexy to catch up on,” she complained aloud as she knelt next to him and tried to find his wallet. Shivering from the rain she pulled at his ripped shirt, wondering how long he had been outside in the cold. The edge of a tattoo on his chest caught her eye, making her immediately question if this guy belonged on base after all. 

“Let’s see your ink, buddy,” she said aloud as she pulled his shirt collar down. “Maybe you’re an Army guy after all and we can just skip some of the paperwork, huh?”

Upon seeing the anti-possession tattoo over his heart, she felt her own heart skip a beat. 

“Holy shit,” she yelled out before clapping her hand over her mouth. She stood and glanced furtively around before remembering that this was private government property. No one would be out here willingly. Hell, she wouldn’t even be there if they weren’t paying her. She kneeled down and lightly patted his face. “Dude, wake up! If you’re a hunter, you’ve really got to get out of here!”

He didn’t stir, even when she slapped him sharply across the face. She sighed before dropping her head in defeat. “There has to be someone that knows you’re here. You guys hunt with partners, right?”

She thought back to the years her dad had hunted, nearly thirty years before something had finally caught up with him. He had always had a partner, someone who had his back when he hunted. Surely this guy was as smart as her dad. Either way, she had to get him off the Army base before someone else found him. Trespassers weren’t just released at the gate and given an ass chewing, they were arrested. 

She reached for her radio before pausing with a sigh. “What the hell am I supposed to do with you,” she asked the unconscious man. “There has to be someone who can get you out of here. I can’t arrest you! Most of you guys are wanted by someone.”

She hesitated before fishing through his other pockets, finding nothing useful. “No phone, no wallet, no nothing. Just great!”

Another crack of thunder made her jump and drop her flashlight. The sound of a branch breaking nearby made her turn and stare into the dark trees. “Hello,” she yelled out. “If you’re with him, you can come out!”

A loud screech made her draw her 9mm from its holster, sweeping the darkness, looking for her target. Something moved near her left, its shadowy appearance making her back up and stand over the frozen man, gun in hand. “I’m going to guess that’s not your partner out there,” Gloria whispered. She nudged him with her boots, but he remained silent. “We’ve got get out of here. I’m guessing you’re on a job, huh? Well, I’d rather not know what’s out there; probably something with teeth. Big ones…”

Gloria glanced back at her Impala; the engine was still running and its headlights cut through the early morning light and rain. There was no way she could get the car closer to him and with something unknown creeping in the woods she knew she couldn’t leave him alone for any length of time. 

She hesitated as she slid her flashlight in her back pocket. She stooped low and gave the trees a slow and methodical look as her eyes adjusted to the dim light. She could see something standing, watching her, a mere hundred feet away. She quickly hooked her arms under his and began to drag him towards the car. He was icy to the touch and no longer shivering, surely not a good sign. She could feel his sluggish heartbeats in her own chest and briefly wondered if the mystery being in the woods had already fatally wounded the man in her arms. Her eyes never left the silhouette in the trees; she prayed it was the only one and that she wasn’t going to be taken down from the side. If there was more than one of them, she’d have to drop him to reach her gun. Even then, she had no idea if her ammo was the kind she’d need to kill it. Silver, her dad had always said. When in doubt, use silver. She let out a quick gasp of alarm when she bumped into something behind her before rolling her eyes at her own stupidity. It was the car. 

With a glance back into the trees, she opened the back door and unceremoniously dumped him into the back of the car. She hurried into the driver’s seat and locked the doors before peering out into the dim morning light. She could still see the silhouette, this time it was standing a mere dozen feet from the car, hidden in the darkness of the trees. With a determined look, she shifted into gear and sped down the road leaving the mysterious being far behind. 

They were a mile away when she heard a pained gasp and gag from the backseat. She immediately pulled over and looked at the man sprawled out on the seat behind her. With one quick glance at him she threw the car into park and darted out the car, yanking the rear door open. 

He was turning blue. A shallow gagging sound was the only thing she could hear over the pounding of her heart. 

“Shit!”

Sioux Falls, South Dakota

Bobby eased through the back door and closed it behind him, cringing at the noise the door made when it finally closed. He tossed his wet jacket and hat on a chair before walking to the study and glancing around the doorway, relieved to see Sam still sleeping on the couch. Bobby headed for the stove and put the coffee pot on. 

With another glance at Sam, Bobby headed for his desk. He grabbed his book of contacts and started flipping through the pages, trying to determine who was close to Newport News, Virginia. He didn’t know yet how he was going to deal with getting around the military if they found Dean first. If he was found on the Army base, they’d have to arrest him. If he was in bad enough shape physically or out of his head, they’d toss him in a hospital where they’d keep him for interviews after he shaped up. He knew neither option would pan out well for Dean. He’d end up in a psych ward, prison, or graveyard. 

Bobby paused when he came to the name of a hunter near Roanoke and cursed when he remembered he had died the previous year. “There’s got to be someone down there,” Bobby muttered to himself as he poured himself a cup of coffee. What he wanted to do was drive to Virginia and find Dean himself, but he knew that wasn’t feasible. Dean couldn’t wait that long. He’d have to find someone now. 

Bobby carried his cup of coffee and book to his desk, settling in as quietly as he could. He was flipping through the E section of the book when he realized Sam was staring at him from across the room. He looked better than he had the night before, the dark lines under his eyes had faded somewhat. Now, if Bobby could just get him to eat they’d be on the right track. 

“Rise and shine, Sleeping Beauty,” he said before he went back to flipping pages. He sipped his coffee and glanced at Sam. He didn’t miss the way Sam’s eyes narrowed slightly as he looked at the floor. Bobby followed his gaze and felt his stomach turn over. Boot prints led from the kitchen to where Bobby sat; each wet boot print a shining beacon that proclaimed Bobby had left the house. 

“Where’d you go,” Sam asked from his place on the couch. He slowly rose and stretched, sore from a night on the small couch. 

“Nowhere,” Bobby lied before adding, “Just out to check the gates.”

He didn’t say anything else as he went back to flipping through the pages. He needed to find someone in Virginia soon and he didn’t have time to argue with Sam. He wanted someone on the way to Dean before he told Sam he had a lead on where he was. If not, Sam wouldn’t hesitate to hop in the car and go tearing off to find him. What Dean didn’t need was Sam compounding the situation with the Army. 

“Any leads,” Sam asked. 

“Nope,” Bobby lied as he flipped another page.

“Bobby, where did you go,” Sam asked, this time with a slightly more demanding tone.

“The gates, like I said. You got a problem with your hearing this morning,” Bobby asked as he sat back in his chair and stared at Sam. 

“Who’s in Vermillion,” Sam asked. 

Bobby didn’t miss the anger on Sam’s face; his own face was growing hot with anger. “I don’t know how you know about that, Sam, but we’re not going to talk about.”

“I think I deserve to know! You expect me to just sit here quietly while you disappear in the middle of the night—after you offered me a double dose of sleeping pills, no less—so you can do what?! Look for Dean without me?! I can help! He’s my brother, he’s my responsibility!”

Bobby stared at the man and sat back in his chair, studying him. Sam’s clenched hands were shaking with anger. Bobby drew a deep breath. “I know you can help, Sam. That’s not why I didn’t tell you about where I was going. The place I went, it’s not someplace you go when you reek of desperation and fear. You’ll make a bad decision and get yourself killed. And once you’re in, you have to decide if the cost is worth it. You can’t do that right now…you’d do something stupid. Just like Dean.”

Sam sat up like he’d been slapped. “What did you do?”

Bobby shrugged. “Went for a drive. Spoke to an old friend. Drank some high end whiskey…”

“And made a deal,” Sam asked, suddenly fearful of the answer. 

Bobby froze at the words. “Not that kind of deal, Sam. I paid someone to shake Dean loose from whatever had him.”

“What kind of person can do that,” Sam asked curiously. 

“The kind I don’t talk about,” Bobby said firmly as he glared at Sam.

Sam sat silent, letting the information sink in. He felt a wave of hope begin to swell in his chest. “Do we know where he is?”

“In a roundabout sort of way. I’ll know more when I get a phone call back from Marty,” Bobby said. “Now, I want to know how you knew I was in Vermillion. I know you didn’t drive, so don’t give me that bullshit about how you drove, all hopped up on sleeping pills, and followed me. Spill it.”

“The scrying stone,” Sam admitted. “You left it on your desk after we used it to look for Dean.”

Sam stood from the couch and walked somewhat unsteadily to the desk. He laid a map and small amethyst stone hanging from a silver chain in front of Bobby before walking to the hallway. “I thought whatever had taken Dean had come for you too.”

Bobby listened to Sam slowly climb the stairs before sinking back in his chair with a deep sigh. He hadn’t even considered how Sam might misinterpret his sudden disappearance from the house. Shit, he had screwed up again. 

Sam stared at the shower, wondering if he could keep himself upright long enough to even scrub down. He hated sleeping pills, they always made him feel groggy and uncoordinated afterwards. He opted to just splash cold water on his face before heading back downstairs. A shower could wait. He needed to get back to finding Dean. 

As Sam rounded the corner into the kitchen, he heard Bobby talking on the phone.  
He paused in the doorway and listened. He was rewarded by Bobby leaning around the corner and glaring at him before he walked out the back door, phone pressed to his cheek and contact book in his hand. 

Outside, Bobby tossed the book on the porch railing before turning back to the phone call. 

“Marty, yeah, I need to find anyone close to Newport News, Virginia. Specifically someone who can get on to Fort Eustis,” Bobby explained as he stared out into the rain. “I’ll take anyone close.”

“Bobby, you’re not going to find anyone who can sneak onto a military base,” Marty stated into the phone. “You need someone already on it.”

“Yeah cause we just all have those kind of connections,” Bobby snapped sarcastically. 

“Actually you do…sort of,” Marty said as the sound of pages being flipped filled the phone. “Yeah, here you go. Remember Silas Johnson?”

“Yeah and mostly I remember that he died last year,” Bobby said dryly. “Any more bright ideas?”

“Hold your horses, Bobby,” Marty said impatiently. “He had a kid, an Army brat that enlisted a few years back, wanted to be like her ‘ole man. I met her at the funeral. She was stationed at Fort Eustis, she might still be there.”

“Marty, as much as I might need her, I’m not about to have some girl risk her career for this wild goose chase,” Bobby argued. “You better have someone else down there you can call.”

“I can call Silas’ widow, see if she’s still in touch anyone in that area,” Marty replied hesitantly. “She’s not going to want to offer up her own daughter but she might be able to point us towards someone else.”

“Fine. I’ll be on the road soon,” Bobby said as he snapped his phone shut. He watched the rain continue to fall and sent a not quite pleasant prayer to Castiel. 

Bobby slammed the door shut behind him and grabbed his duffel bag from beside his desk. He was always ready to head out; clothes, cash, and weapons packed at all times. 

“Bobby,” Sam said from the couch, a questioning tone in his voice. 

“Get your stuff, we leave in ten,” Bobby said as he headed to the kitchen. 

Sam climbed the stairs as fast as he could and rushed to throw clothes into his duffel bag. He didn’t need to know where they were headed. As long as Bobby was moving, he’d be right behind him. It was the thought of Bobby sitting down, wanting to talk, that terrified him. You didn’t leave home in a hurry to collect a corpse; you hurried because there was still a pulse, a hope. As long as they were moving, he knew Dean was still alive. 

Fort Eustis, Newport News, Virginia

Gloria climbed in the backseat on top of the young man and yanked his arms forward, forcing him to sit up. She dragged him to the edge of the seat, his lanky legs hanging through the open door. The gagging sound coming from him made her own throat tighten. She awkwardly slid her fingers through his blue lips and tried to find whatever he was choking on. She almost smiled in relief when she saw his green eyes slide open; panic filled as they may have been, she was relieved. Almost, anyhow. 

His eyes flew open and tried to focus on her as he suddenly attempted to move away from her. 

“Calm down! You’re choking,” Gloria said, trying to remain calm. She had training, but it didn’t cover what to do when you got caught with your fingers down a stranger’s throat. She cried out as he bit down on her fingers, breaking the skin across two of her knuckles. 

“Goddamn it! Let go,” she ground out as she tried to pry his jaw open with her other hand. He tried to wiggle away from her, making it impossible for her to keep a firm hold on him. As he bit down harder, she braced herself before landing a sharp slap across his face. Surprised and disoriented, he loosened his bite and she quickly retreated from him. Without her support, he flopped back onto the seat. 

She glanced at her bleeding fingers before the noise caught her attention again. “Try to cough.”

His head rolled away from her as the gagging noise got louder. She watched as he looked around, unable to focus on anything. As he turned a tinge bluer she forced her way into the car and straddled him, pinning his arms to the seat. She grabbed his head before turning it sideways, slipping her bloody fingers back in his mouth to check his airway. “Sorry man. But you can’t die out here.”

He tried to roll his head away but Gloria placed her other hand on his jaw, effectively pining him to the seat. She frowned as she felt the edge of something in his throat.

As she carefully tried to ease it from his throat he gagged again and began to violently dry heave. “Shit,” Gloria exclaimed she rolled him to his side and held his head. Bile escaped from his mouth along with a piece of rounded pastry, a crescent moon in the mass of dark bile that now coated the floor. “Gross.”

She maneuvered him into an upright sitting position on the seat and quickly used the seatbelt to hold him in place. “Man, you have no idea how badly I don’t want to clean that up.”

She kneeled on the seat and stared at him, his unfocused eyes wandering over everything. She frowned at the small sounds she heard escape from him lips. She leaned close and listened. 

“You’re not her…she’s dead….you can’t be…I’ll kill….all of you…..you’re not real….”

Startled, she stood from the car and watched his hands move restlessly, never settling on anything or touching anything, just moving with a purpose she couldn’t see. She hesitated as she pulled her handcuffs free and slipped them on his already bruised wrists. “Sorry man, but no one is killing anybody on my watch.”

“Now what do I do with you,” she asked him, not expecting any sort of answer. “If you’re crazy, I can’t very well hide you in the barracks. I can’t drop you off anywhere and leave you either. Hey! Hey! Can you tell me your name?”

He didn’t say anything, his eyes wandering, seeing only things he could see. 

“What the hell do I do now?”

Sioux Falls, South Dakota

Bobby didn’t say anything as Sam glanced at him for the tenth time in the last half mile. 

“You got a problem over there?”

Sam hesitated before shaking his head, turning his eyes back to the road. 

“Good,” Bobby huffed sharply as he adjusted the radio. He wasn’t about to sit in silence while Sam sulked and felt slighted over Bobby’s meeting in Vermillion. He’d seen the boys have hundred mile silences and he knew he wasn’t going to have the patience to put up with it. 

Sam opened his mouth and before he could get anything out Bobby snapped at him. “Can it, Sam.”

“But—“

“But nothing,” Bobby said as he pulled onto the interstate. “We all have our secrets. This is one of mine. End of discussion.”

“Don’t you think we need—“

“Nope!”

“But you’re the one who says keeping secrets will get you killed.”

“Don’t quote me, back to me, kid! And who are you to preach at me about keeping secrets? I seem to remember one of us screaming our lungs out in the panic room while detoxing from demon blood; that was the result of whose secret? Yours! Mine’s not hurting anyone so don’t go comparing us; we’ve both got secrets. And mine are staying that way!”

Sam felt his face flush with anger. He couldn’t believe Bobby had thrown that in his face, after all this time. He had made mistakes. Hell, they all had…but Sam had to know. 

“Please just tell me that you paid in cash and didn’t trade something for the help you got…”

Bobby sighed and adjusted his cap. “Sure.” 

Sam snorted and shook his head. “Not very reassuring, Bobby.”

Bobby squared his jaw tightly. “Then stop asking.”

They drove for an hour before Sam turned and asked, “Where are we going?”

“Guess I could have told you that sooner. Newport News, Virginia,” Bobby said. “About twenty one hours or so.”

“Who found him?”

Bobby considered what to tell Sam. He didn’t know if anyone had found Dean yet. Marty hadn’t called him back with any names. “Not really sure of that yet.”

“But it’s someone you trust, right,” Sam asked awkwardly. He could see Bobby wasn’t going to outright tell him anything. 

When Bobby didn’t answer him, Sam snapped. He was wound tight with worry, panic, and anger; an explosive combination in a Winchester. “Dammit, Bobby! Tell me where he is! Is he alive? Dead? Are we headed for some hunting buddy’s house or not? The morgue? Where the hell are we going!?”

Bobby hit the brakes and swerved onto the shoulder before throwing the car into park and turning towards Sam. “I don’t know, Sam! I know he’s in Newport News, Virginia! On an Army base! I don’t know who, or if anybody, has found him yet. I’ve got Marty looking for anyone who can get on base and locate him. I’m assuming he’s alive but I don’t know for sure. Does that make you feel better? Cause I don’t have any more answers for you! So shut your trap and let me think!”

Sam tightened his jaw and nodded forcefully. “Just get us there.”

Fort Eustis, Newport News, Virginia

Gloria’s head swiveled from side to side, looking for anyone who might spot her. She had parked the patrol car next to her own car, lining up their rear doors. She needed to get the hunter from her patrol car into her own, a 2012 Dodge Challenger, a gift to herself after her tour in Afghanistan. He was making less sense than before, if that was possible. He seemed to drift to where he was almost asleep before he would jerk awake, only to mumble gibberish again. Gloria was really starting to wonder if maybe he was just crazy. If it hadn’t been for the anti-possession tattoo she would have just tossed him in the clink…let her superiors sort him out. But he was a hunter. And even though she hadn’t hunted anything since her dad’s death, she was in the loop. That made them family. If they didn’t look out for each other, no one would. 

With one last glance around, she grabbed him under the arms and pulled him to his feet. She frowned at his icy touch and tried to remember if she still had a blanket in the trunk. He was barely standing on his own and he continued to struggle at her touch. He continued to mutter death threats and something about ‘her’ and ‘they’. Without a word, she swiveled him on his feet before grabbing him by the back of the neck, forcing his head low and guiding him into the car. He ended up awkwardly sprawled across the backseat but she didn’t care. She just needed to get him away from where anyone might see him and start asking questions. She threw a blanket over him and prayed he could keep still for a few minutes while she took care of a few things. If anyone found him, or discovered that she had found him on base and chosen to hide him, it would be both their asses in the clink. 

Twenty minutes later they were speeding away, a small triumphant smile on her face. She drove around for a while, trying to sort out where to stash him. It might have been possible to hide him in her barracks, it had been done before after all, but it wouldn’t be possible if he was delirious and muttering death threats. She briefly considered calling one of her friends who had a house on base, but they had kids. Bringing a death threat muttering, poorly clothed man who reeked of vomit to a friend’s house might just end the friendship. No, she needed someplace quiet and away from people. 

She decided on a cabin, they could be rented by military personal and since they were located on base, she could get there quickly. She raced to the small grocery nearby. After a quick run through the store, she heaved bags of food and first aid items onto the front seat and climbed in, ignoring the groaning coming from the backseat. 

“You awake yet,” she asked. 

No words came from the back seat. 

“You have a name?”

Silence returned to the car.

“Anyone I can call?”

Still he said nothing. 

She sighed and headed for the cabins. “Someone has to be looking for you.”

South Dakota Interstate

Bobby jumped as his phone rang, the car swerving slightly as he dug it out of his pocket. “Marty?”

“Yeah, Bobby. I called Silas’ widow. We’re on our own.”

“She didn’t offer up her daughter, huh,” Bobby asked somewhat disappointedly. Not that he blamed the woman. Her daughter was all she had left. 

“Not directly. I’m trying to find the daughter now,” Marty stated. “Her name is Gloria and her mom did confirm that she is still working on the base.”

“And how do you propose that we find her on a military base that we don’t have access to,” Bobby asked curiously. “We’ve faked ID’s before, but we won’t be able to pull this one off.”

“No clue,” Marty admitted. “I’ll keep working on it.”

Bobby tossed his phone on the dash and huffed with annoyance. They needed Gloria. She was the only one they knew of and they couldn’t spend the time trying to find anyone else. But if Silas’ widow wanted her daughter safe, he didn’t know how he could go against that. 

“What’s the problem,” Sam asked from his side of the car. The ride had been quiet even though arguments boiled beneath the surface.

“Can’t get hold of the one sure fire person who can get us the Army base,” Bobby grumbled as he pushed the engine harder. “Name’s Gloria Johnson, daughter of a hunter who died last year. She’s stationed there. Probably knows the base better than anyone else we’re going to find.”

“Do you really think Dean hasn’t been found by someone yet? Don’t they patrol like all the time on bases?”

“You’d think so, I’m just hoping he ends up in a medical complex and not in jail,” Bobby said. “Who knows how badly off he’ll be after having been gone so long…”

“You think he’ll remember anything this time?”

“I don’t know, Sam. And as much as it might help us figure out what’s happening to him, I’m not sure I’d want him to remember anything….”


	11. Be All You Can Be

Fort Eustis, Newport News, Virginia

Gloria heaved him up the few steps and dragged him into the small cabin, kicking the door shut behind them. Luckily, it didn’t look like many of the cabins were occupied yet and most people weren’t ready to start their weekends at 8am. How many of the cabins would be rented for the weekend though, she couldn’t guess. It was foul weather and she hoped that most people would vacate the cabin area. She dropped him on one of the small beds before covering him with every blanket within reach. He was still cold. 

She hesitated before she removed the handcuffs, laying his arms above the covers where she could see them. He was definitely bigger than her, but his slow uncoordinated movements and lack of awareness made her confident. She headed back out to the car, bringing in everything she had packed for her own ruined weekend as well as the bags from the store. She grabbed the containers of salt and quickly walked through the cabin, laying down thick lines on the windowsills and along the doorways. 

A deep set frown was etched on her face as she considered how to locate someone to take him off her hands. Surely, someone was looking for him. There had to be other hunters in the area, if they were close enough she could drive him wherever anyone would meet her. She remembered her dad’s journal and wondered if her mom still had it. She remembered some of the names in there, but without the phone numbers it was worthless knowledge. Hunters weren’t advertising in the yellow pages these days. She hesitated before she reached for her phone. Her mom had refused to talk about hunting since they had lost Silas. Gloria hesitated before dialing her mom, stopping in the doorway of the bedroom to check on her mystery guest. 

He was gone. 

Gloria slid the phone into her pocket and rushed into the room. She stared at the empty bed in confusion before she heard a noise behind her. She kicked herself for her stupidity. 

He grabbed her tightly, one arm wrapped around her throat while the other snaked around her torso. 

“Is this the lie,” he whispered into her ear. “He wouldn’t do this….he’s my brother….you’re just monsters….in the dark…”

Gloria tried to fight back her panic as she fought to get loose of the suddenly mobile hunter. He was taller than her, providing him somewhat of an advantage. With her boot she stomped on his raw, bare foot and slipped one arm loose and thrust her elbow into his ribs before slipping around in his grip, turning to face him. His green eyes burned with pain, fear, and hate sending a chill through her. He fought to regain his grip on her as she suddenly thrust her arm up between them, loosening his grip on her neck. Before he could recover, she punched him hard in the center of his chest, sending him back with a groan. He stumbled and clung onto the doorframe, panting wildly. She stayed in a low position, watching him closely as she gingerly touched her throat, it ached from his bruising grip. He looked around slowly before muttering unintelligibly. 

“I’m not whoever you think I am. But let me assure you, you try that again and I’ll kick your ass,” she said, her voice raw, knowing it wasn’t going to get through to him. His mind was somewhere else while his body was left behind to defend itself. She considered what kind of monster he could have been hunting, knowing that several of them could alter someone’s perception of reality. 

She watched as he was suddenly overtaken by shivering, his hands shaking forcefully. She was relieved; shivering was a good sign in his case. 

She coughed lightly, trying to see just how badly her throat was hurt. His head swiveled towards her, his glassy green eyes honing in her with a fierce look of determination. He took one step towards her, making her rethink her position. “Let’s just stay there, okay,” she said lightly as she glanced from him to the doorway behind him. 

“Stop…,” he ground out between chattering teeth. “Just stop looking like them….you evil sonovabitch.”

She froze, not sure if he was talking to her or something he thought he was seeing. She slowly glanced from side to side to make sure they were truly alone; seeing nothing she turned her attention back to the man in front of her. “You need to get back in bed,” she muttered. “Try to warm up.”

He didn’t respond to her words as he took a shaky step towards her, his firsts curled tightly and his eyes full of hate. Without another thought, she charged him and brought him to the floor with a thud. 

Somewhere in Dean’s Mind (Not sure how else to put it. Suggestions?) 

Dean was freezing. Pain assailed him on all fronts, his burning feet, his aching chest, just….everything. Every sensation seemed to cut right through him, every sound seemed loud and foreign. He felt something hard underneath him, cold and rough on his skin. Hands were all over him, pulling at his clothing, arms, and legs.

He struggled to see anything; his sight was filled with strange bursts of color that seemed to move on their own. He tried to rub his eyes, cringing as something pushed his hands away. 

“Stop, you’re going to rub them raw,” a voice said, cutting through the fog that muffled his brain. He struggled to look in the direction of the voice. He could see an outline of someone standing over him, leering at him. Their face seemed to be a collection of change, like paint mixing together. First the face was black and young with eyes that looked down at him with concern. Next it morphed into his mother’s face, one that smiled sweetly before baring sharp teeth at him. He tensed and cried out. “Stop!”

He watched in horror as it turned into his dad, his stern look made Dean freeze. 

“Stop fighting me,” he demanded as his eyes turned dark; black and bottomless. 

“No! …No… you’re not… you’re dead…you’re dead,” he said bitterly. “They’re all dead…”

“I’m not dead,” his mother cooed into his ear. “I’m here with you.”

Dean shook uncontrollably as another round of shivering tore through him, his teeth chattering loudly. 

The shack. He was still in the shack. His heart jumped in his chest as he remembered the dank, cold shack in the woods. The being standing over all the men, plying them with food... 

He looked around wildly, trying to see where the other men had gone. He was alone. 

Rain battered the roof overhead, pounding louder than ever. He felt water begin to rise around him, dragging him down, drowning him. The spots in his vision exploded as he tried to get out of the water. Something held his wrists tightly, cutting into his flesh. He cried out as he felt rough hands pushing him down into the water. The water was excruciating, the feel of it sending pins, needles, and daggers through him.

“Open your eyes,” the voice demanded. 

He shook his head wildly and howled. “Lemme go!”

“Come on, open up,” the voice said. “Look at me.”

Dean sobbed as he cracked an eye open and saw his mother standing over him, a look of triumph on her face. “I’ll take good care of you,” she said with a smirk. “We’re going to be fine.”

“Sam,” Dean cried out as he fought against the weight on his chest, pushing him deeper into the water. “Sammy!”

Fort Eustis, Newport News, Virginia

Gloria struggled to keep him in the bathtub as the lukewarm water rushed out of the faucet. She had stripped him down to his boxers and maneuvered him into the tub, his hands handcuffed to prevent any more attempts at killing her. 

He fought with more endurance than she had given him credit for earlier. He cried out as the water rose; his muscles contracting at the sudden change in temperature. She knew it hurt, but lukewarm water was the safest place to start. Once his body temperature got adjusted, she could refill the tub with warmer water. 

“Hang on,” she said calmly, hoping that her tone might be enough to calm him down. She jumped when he began to sob and cry out ‘Sammy’. She shuddered at the sheer pain in his voice, it was more than physical. It was emotional and damn near heartbreaking. 

He slowly quieted down, his taut body relaxing into the warmth even as he continued to shiver. 

“Must be running out of adrenaline,” she said with a sigh of relief. “About time too.” 

She watched as his eyes began to droop closed, only to snap open every few seconds. He held the side of the tub tightly, his knuckles white from his attempt to prevent from sinking into the water. He shivered violently as he began to slide further and further into the water, his eyes rolling wildly at the sensation. Gloria glanced around the bathroom for any way to keep him upright in the tub and found nothing. 

She closed her eyes tightly and shook her head. “Dammit.”

As she fought to remove her already soaked jacket and uniform pants she tossed her phone next to the tub. She’d call her mom later. First things first, she had to get him warmed up and out of the tub where she wouldn’t have to worry about him drowning himself. 

“What the hell are you doing, Gloria,” she asked herself as she climbed in the tub behind him, holding him upright. She finally managed to get her arms wrapped around him with his head lolling on her shoulder. His knees stuck out of the water but she couldn’t help that, he was just too damn tall. The water sloshed to the top of the tub, submersing them as deeply as possible. She shivered in the lukewarm water and wondered how long it would take before the tub could be filled with warm water. His skin was still cold and shivers raced through him. 

After refilling the tub with mildly warm water, she noticed he had begun to relax into her arms. His grip on the side of the tub had loosed completely, his hands sliding into the warmth of the water. Gloria could hear the rain pounding on the roof of their cabin, wind whipping around it. If it hadn’t been for the shivering man in her arms, this wouldn’t have been a bad way to spend her morning. A hot bath in a rain storm. Something about it seemed so soothing. 

She sighed contentedly as she listened to his even breathing, she was fairly certain he had finally slipped into an exhausted sleep. She wondered how much longer in the tub it would take for him to stop shivering. 

If her dad had ever found her in this situation with a hunter, he’d have tanned her hide. His belief had been that while you watch out for each other, you never trust someone you don’t know. Especially one whose name you didn’t know. Reputation could help you a long ways in knowing someone, but this, this went against the way she had been raised. She smiled sadly at the idea of her dad giving her one last ass chewing, yelling down at her from his place in Heaven while shaking his finger at her in frustration of her stubbornness. 

She closed her eyes and relaxed into the warmth of the water, resting one hand over the man’s heart. 

Somewhere in Wisconsin 

Bobby grabbed for his phone as it went off again, answering it before it woke Sam. The kid had finally given in to the late after-effects of the sleeping pills, the road noise lulling him to sleep the second the engine had reached seventy miles an hour. He smiled, next time Sam refused or couldn’t sleep, he’d just cram the kid in the car and hit the road. Hell, Sam had been raised in the backseat of the Impala, it was the most obvious place he’d feel safe and relaxed. 

“Marty,” Bobby said without looking at the phone. “You find her?”

“I called a friend of a friend, who called a friend of a friend and—“

“Marty, yes or no,” Bobby said, interrupting the man. 

“I got her cell phone number,” Marty said. “I’ve tried calling her but I’m not getting an answer.”

“Give me the number, we’ll keep trying while we’re on the road,” Bobby said. He listened to Marty repeat the number twice before Bobby had it. “I’ll call her now.”

“You ever work with Silas in the past,” Marty asked. 

“Once, about ten years ago. She won’t know me, but she’s our best shot as of right now.”

Bobby hung up and recited the number to himself as he dialed. 

Fort Eustis, Newport News, Virginia

Gloria was pulled from sleep by her obnoxious ring tone. She blinked and realized she was still in the tub, holding the man’s back to her chest. He was limp in her arms, his head lying on her shoulder. The water had cooled, letting her know they had been in the tub for a while. As the ringing continued she reached out of the tub and found her phone on the floor. 

“Hello,” she asked somewhat sternly as she tried to adjust her position in the tub. Her right leg had fallen asleep from sitting so long in a cramped position. 

“Looking for Gloria Johnson,” a man’s voice asked. 

Gloria stiffened. “And?”

“Are you her,” the voice asked with an impatient huff. 

“Who is this,” she asked, refusing to acknowledge his question. Her day had already been weird enough without adding any more to it. 

“I’m looking for Gloria Johnson. I’m an old acquaintance of her dad’s,” the man said. “So are you her or not?”

Gloria sighed before saying, “Yeah. Now who is this?”

“Bobby Singer. I worked with your dad about ten years ago on a job near Roanoke,” the man explained. 

“And,” Gloria asked as she worked to adjust herself in the tub, the man leaning heavily on her. 

“I’m looking for a hunter, he…he’s lost and I got word that he may be on Fort Eustis,” Bobby explained. “I was hoping you might be able to find him before anyone else does.”

Gloria jumped at his words. “Description?”

“Brown hair, green eyes, 6’1’,” Bobby said.

“Identifying marks,” Gloria asked, already knowing the answer. 

“Anti-possession tattoo—“

“Over his heart,” Gloria exclaimed, interrupting him. “I’ve got him.”

Bobby’s sigh of relief came through the phone.

Gloria maneuvered herself out of the tub, leaning the man against the sloped back of the tub. Bobby could hear the sound of sloshing water and curiously asked, “What the hell was that?”

“We’re fine; I just had to get out of the tub. Been in there for probably over an hour trying to warm him up; he couldn’t seem to hold himself up,” Gloria explained into the phone as she tiptoed across the room towards the towel rack. Her t-shirt stuck to her, making her shiver in the cool air. “He’s not in great condition, so don’t hold that against me.”

“What’s wrong with him,” Bobby demanded. “You find him outside? How long was he out there for? Can you get him off the base? Who found him?”

“Whoa, slow down,” Gloria said as she wrapped a towel around her and began to drain the water from the tub while refilling it with warmer water. “First thing, I’m the one who found him and he’s damn lucky I did. He’s even luckier I know what that tattoo is, without that I wouldn’t have had a clue he was a hunter. If someone else had found him, he’d be in lock up right now.”

“Where was he,” Bobby asked. He needed details. Sam would need to know. 

“Passed out in the woods near the James River,” Gloria explained. “Sheer luck that I spotted him while I was on patrol; he was hidden by some underbrush. Strange though, something was in the woods with us. What was he hunting out here?”

“You see it?”

“Not enough to tell what it was but enough to know I didn’t want to get any closer to it,” Gloria said. “It was fast, I know that. And tall. Heard some screeching.”

“How is he?”

Gloria turned and looked down at the man. His paleness accentuated his freckles, making him look younger. “Hypothermic for starters. Wasn’t even shivering when I found him. I’ve had in him the tub for a while now, warming him up slowly. He’s bruised, his feet are in bad shape but he wasn’t even wearing shoes when I found him. He keeps rubbing at his eyes, not sure why though.”

“Does he know where he is,” Bobby asked, worried how Dean was taking his sudden return to reality. 

“I don’t think so. He’s not made any sense so far. He’s combative. Had me by the throat earlier but I got him down after a minute. I’m not sure I’d even use the word ‘confused’ at this point, since he’s not even touched down in reality yet. From his babbling, it’s more like he’s seeing and hearing things that aren’t there; his mind is somewhere else completely and wherever it is, it’s not a happy place.”

“I bet,” Bobby murmured in the phone. “Look, we’re still a ways out from you. Is there any chance you can keep an eye on him until we get there?”

Gloria hesitated. “I’ve got the time but I’m not equipped for this.”

“That man is Dean Winchester. If he’s found, he’ll end up in prison. Trust me, you’re equipped enough.”

Gloria stared down at the man. She had heard stories about him and his brother, but her dad had kept it to just that, stories. Trouble followed them wherever they went. 

“Anything I need to know,” Gloria asked. “I don’t want to make this worse.”

“Trust me, this can’t get any worse,” Bobby stated firmly. “But there are a few things that might help you out.”

“Ok, let’s have it then,” Gloria said as she pulled more towels from the rack. 

Bobby chuckled slightly. “First off, that he’s a bad patient even when he’s in his right mind. When he’s out his head, he can be a handful. Combative, noncompliant, angry, and once he starts a high fever his grip on reality gets spotty.”

“Sounds peachy,” Gloria replied. “Just what the hell am I going to do with him?”

“Just keep him from getting found and I’ll call you when we’re close. We’re driving from South Dakota, should be there sometime tomorrow. We’ve got two drivers so we’ll drive through the night to get to you. Any way you can get him off base?”

“Shouldn’t be that hard. I’ll call you if anything happens.”

“Keep in mind he’s been through the ringer but don’t be afraid to do what you have to; he was raised in the life. Sometimes he responds best to a stern voice. And Gloria?”

“Yeah?”

“Don’t let him out of your sights. Something’s after him and he’ll disappear into thin air. We can’t lose him again.”

Gloria turned around and looked at Dean, still lying precariously in the tub. “I’ll keep tabs on him.”

After tossing her phone aside, Gloria set about heaving Dean out of the tub; a tricky move on a wet floor. She half carried, half dragged him to the bed before she heaved him onto it and wrapped a blanket around him. He was still pale, yet his color was far better than from when she had found him. Keeping Bobby’s words in mind, she grabbed all of the bags and threw them on the dresser. She gave one last glance out the front door before checking all the doors and windows again. 

Content that they were as safe as she could make them, she shoved him to one side of the bed and draped blankets over him before settling on the far corner of the bed wrapped up in her own blanket. She grabbed a box of pop tarts from her bag and the remote. 

She skimmed through the channels before finding the Dr. Sexy marathon. Hopefully, Dean was a fan. 

Somewhere in Wisconsin 

“Sam, wake up,” Bobby said as he nudged the man. 

Sam sat up slowly, rubbing his eyes. “Marty call?”

“Better than that. Dean’s been found and I’ve got Gloria Johnson keeping an eye on him until we get there,” Bobby said as he pulled off the interstate and headed for a gas station. 

Sam’s relief was evident, his entire body relaxed. “Finally. How is he? Why didn’t you wake me up to talk to him?”

“He’s not up to talking,” Bobby said, worriedly. “He’s out of it.”

Sam sat silent for a minute. “Is Gloria prepared for this?”

“I told her to go easy on him, but to do anything necessary. She’ll do alright by him.”

“I hope she’s up to it,” Sam said, concern dripping from his voice. “You know how he can get…”

“He had her by the throat earlier; she said she took care of it.”

Sam looked at him, his eyes wide. “What exactly does that mean?”

“It means that she’s an Army brat who grew up with a hunter for a dad and then joined the Army when she was old enough. She took care of it. Probably better than most would have been able to. He’ll be fine.”

“Hope so…Wait ‘til Dean finds out a girl kicked his ass!”

Fort Eustis, Newport News, Virginia

Gloria woke to the sound of thunder clapping overhead. The light from the television cast a soft glow across the room, illuminating the man rolling restlessly in the bed. She flipped the lamp on and moved to look at him. He was covered in sweat, his cheeks red from fever. 

“How do you go from freezing to cooking in two hours,” Gloria asked rhetorically. She laid a hand on his cheek and cringed at the roll of heat that came off of him. “Just great.”

She dragged all but the sheet off of him, making him shiver. She dug through the bags to find the Gatorade she had bought at the store. Who knew how long ago it had been since he had eaten or drunk anything… She spun the cap loose before moving behind him and forcing him to sit up against the pillows. His head rolled towards her, his green eyes glassy and confused. 

“You need to drink this,” she said, calmly but firmly, remembering Bobby’s advice. 

He fought against her hold, thrashing his head from side to side. “No…no…no!”

“Dean. Stop fighting me,” Gloria said firmly, glad she had left the handcuffs on him. “You’ve got a fever and you’re probably dehydrated.”

He continued to fight her until she moved the bottle from out of his sight; he immediately calmed somewhat. Curiously, she moved it back within his sight and watched as he fought her, his eyes glued to the bottle in her hand. She moved to the table and picked up a leftover pop tart and offered it to him, frowning when she got the same reaction. 

“Food phobia? Bobby didn’t mention that,” she commented as she pulled her phone from her pocket. 

Fifteen minutes later, Gloria was covered in Gatorade, a scowl across her face as she ripped the wet sheet from the bed. “So much for Bobby’s bright idea,” she muttered. “Guessing we’re going to have to find another way.”

She sat on the end of the bed and watched him. He looked miserable. Sweat beaded on his skin as a sudden cough wracked his frame. Gloria reached for another blanket and started to wrap him up when he began to mutter under his breath. 

“Stop…cold…Sammy, make it stop….cold…”

Gloria sat back and considered the man in front of her. According to Bobby, they didn’t know what was taking him. Of course, he had also said that Dean had never been gone this long before. With a look of determination, she grabbed the blankets and hauled them back off of him. There had to be a clue somewhere and damned if he wasn’t the biggest clue they had. She flipped on the lamp and began to search closely; there had to be some kind of clue somewhere on him. Some sort of mark. Even a wound might be enough to help sort it out. She frowned at the bruises that laced around him ankles and wrists, old bruises laced up one of his arms. There were new bruises from their tussle earlier in the day, a mass of blue in the center of his chest. She gently prodded the bruise and frowned at his lack of pain response. Wherever his mind was, it didn’t seem well connected with his body. 

She continued her hunt and smiled in triumph when she found it. A faint mark, barely visible, could be seen on his lower back. She got as close as she dared and looked at the faint mark, it was round and raised, looking much like a brand on his skin. Tiny, raised marks ran around its inner band. She grabbed her phone and snapped a picture before sending it to Bobby. She ran a light finger over the mark and found it to be ice cold, burning her as she touched it. With a frown she answered her ringing phone.

“I’m going to guess he didn’t have that last time you saw him,” she said as she dropped the blankets back over him. 

“Where is it,” a new, younger voice asked impatiently. 

“Who the hell is this,” she demanded. 

“Sam Winchester, Dean’s brother. Bobby’s here in the car, working on some details of our own,” Sam explained. 

“Fine,” Gloria snapped. “It’s on his lower back; he probably couldn’t have seen it himself. Honestly, if it wasn’t for how flushed he is with his fever, I don’t know if I would have noticed it either. It’s small, about the size of a dime. It’s colored like a bruise but it’s definitely not. It’s too perfect in shape, looks like a lot like a brand except that the coloring isn’t right.”

“How’s his fever going,” Sam asked, worried. Dean didn’t do fevers well, even in his right mind. 

“He’s sweating up a storm, blazing hot to the touch but he keeps muttering about how cold he is. Speaking of which, this mark is freezing cold to the touch. Can’t be a good sign.”

“How deep does it go,” Sam asked, knowing what she would have to do. “We need to know.”

Gloria carefully prodded the mark, hissing at the iciness that raced up her fingers. She could feel the edges of it. “Not deep. Something you want to share?”

She could hear Sam and Bobby talking in the background, road noise filling the phone. 

“We’ll probably have to burn it off,” Sam asked hesitantly. 

“Are you sure it won’t kill him,” Gloria asked, surprised. “You don’t know what it is!”

“Bobby seems to think that it’s causing his feeling of being cold. Maybe even the fever too. Doesn’t matter, it has to go. We can’t take the risk that the mark is how he’s being found and taken.”

Gloria sat quietly, watching Dean shudder as another round of shivering set in. He was burning to the touch and shivering at the same time. She looked at the mark on his lower back and ran a finger over it. 

“I’ll do it,” she muttered into the phone. 

“What? No,” Sam said firmly. “I can’t ask you to do that. We’ll do it once we get there.”

“His fever is going up, Sam. What if he can’t wait that long?”

Sam didn’t reply. 

“Sam?”

“Do it.”


	12. Turn Up the Heat

Fort Eustis, Newport News, Virginia

Gloria stared at the phone in her hand, her heart beating loudly in her ears. What had she gotten herself into? She wasn’t a medic…or even a real hunter. When she needed medical attention she went to a hospital, like most normal people. Hell, she had bitched at her dad for pulling shit like this when he was on the road hunting. Her hand shook slightly as she set the phone on the bedside table. A string of incoherent muttering from Dean brought her attention back to the facts: he was getting worse and if there was a chance that burning the mark off of his skin would help, she had to buck up and get it done. No dilly dallying. Her dad had raised her to be efficient and creative with limited resources, turns out this was the kind of thing he had been preparing her for. 

She laid a hand over his brow, her own furrowing at the heat that continued to roll off of him. He was burning up; she didn’t need a thermometer to know he was pushing 104 degrees. Another few tenths of a degree and she’d have to start worrying about seizures. She had to get him cooled down. 

With a hesitant glance back at him, she darted to the small kitchen, rummaging through drawers for anything she could heat up enough to burn the mark from his skin. She knew from her own cooking experience that all she needed was a heat source and a metal conductor to store the heat. Nearly any kitchen utensil would work. She slammed the first two drawers closed with a frustrated sigh, only flimsy silverware and plastic sporks to be found. 

“What kind of kitchen doesn’t have a decent…,” she muttered aloud as she opened the last drawer, her eyes landing on a large serving spoon. She eyed the spoon and glanced at the gas stove. “This poor spoon is about to go where no potato salad serving spoon has gone before…”

She flipped on the stove burner, the flames springing to life with the whoosh and pop of the gas igniting. 

Gloria laid the spoon next to the stove and headed back into the bedroom, her eyes immediately locking onto the man writhing on the bed. His eyes moved restlessly under their lids, flicking this way and that. Words, undiscernible, escaped his cracked lips. He was getting further and further away from reality. She grabbed the Gatorade soaked sheet from the floor and tossed it into the bathtub, taking a minute to fill the tub halfway with cold water. Ice wasn’t a good choice for a fever so high, she’d have to make do with a cold, wet sheet and go from there. 

She moved to the side of the bed and considered how she was going to keep him still while she burned the mark off his back. It didn’t matter how far gone and weak he might seem to be now, the second that scalding metal touched him, he’d be impossible to hold down; she had to figure this out ahead of time. She grabbed the edge of the bed sheet and used it gently roll Dean back onto his stomach. His breath hitched in his chest, his hands moving shakily, trying to grab at something, anything… Gloria laid a hand on the nape of his neck and felt the heat continuing to roll off him. “Just hang on, man. I’ll try to make this quick.”

Gloria maneuvered his handcuffed hands in front of him, his face cradled between his arms. She reluctantly twisted the bed sheet into a long rope and looped it through the handcuffs before tying it to the headboard. “I haven’t got anything to tie down your legs…we’ll just have to see how this goes, I guess.”

After rummaging through the bags, she found the small first aid kit and tossed it next to the bed. With a hesitant sigh, she headed back to the kitchen and held the spoon over the stove burner. She watched as the metal began to discolor from the heat; she carefully rolled the spoon through the flames, making sure that enough of the spoon had been heated. She knew she had to do this right the first time. 

Once the spoon was heated, she quickly headed to the bedroom and climbed onto the bed taking care to not startle him; his eyes remained closed, moving feverishly under their lids. She carefully eased herself down onto his back, straddling his hips. She felt him shudder beneath her, from fear or the fever she couldn’t be sure. He wasn’t aware enough of his surrounding to know what was about to happen but she knew that trying to keep him still would most likely be impossible, even if this was the best thing for him. She held the scalding hot spoon in one hand as she slowly slid his boxers down another inch, exposing the small offending mark that lay just in the curve of his lower back. 

Gloria took a deep breath and doubled her grip on the spoon. The heat had traveled the length of the spoon and the handle was starting to feel hot in her hand. 

“Sorry about this. Just go ahead and pass out, Dean. Please,” she said through gritted teeth as she pressed the blisteringly hot spoon against his skin. 

The effect was immediate, his body instantly taut from the painful assault. The cry that escaped his lips was one filled with agonizing pain; a sound that sent goose bumps racing across her skin with a shiver. He moved beneath her, trying desperately to displace the source of his pain. He arched against her before thrashing from side to side; his hands balled tightly in fists as he pulled against the handcuffs. Gloria struggled to hold the spoon against his skin as the smell of burnt flesh filled the room; she gagged at the smell. He arched against her again, making her slide down his onto his legs; she scrambled to remain planted firmly over his hips, she held the burning spoon with one hand as she placed her other hand firmly between his shoulder blades and pushed him into the mattress with the tiny bit of leverage she had. He immediately began to kick with his legs, trying to find any traction he could use to fight. Gloria moved slightly lower on his hips, holding her own against his determination to displace her. “Just pass out already.”

“Stop…Sammy, stop,” Dean ground out through gritted teeth, his every muscle taut with pain and fear. 

“Hey! Dean! Dean, listen to me…we’re almost done.”

She watched as he pulled harshly against the handcuffs. She could see blood on the bed sheet underneath him. 

“Sam! Sammy…” he sobbed out weakly as he began to kick his legs again. “Stop…please stop…”

“Dean…stop fighting me…Sam is coming. So is Bobby. They’ll be here soon…I promise, Sam is coming.”

Dean’s breathing dissolved into a series of short pants, each one sounding more pained than the last. She quickly removed the spoon and looked down for any remaining sign of the mark that she had set out to destroy. Finding none, she tossed the spoon onto the wooden floor and moved to kneel next to him on the bed. She watched his face for any sign of change now that the mark was gone. 

Dean’s face was taut with pain, tears streaking through the sweat that glistened on his fevered skin, his eyes screwed shut against the surroundings he couldn’t understand. His breaths were still short and shaky. She gently laid a hand against the nape of his neck and leaned close to him. “Dean, you did great, man. It’s over. We’re done.”

She picked up the spoon and carried it into the kitchen, tossing it in the sink before splashing cold water on her face. She wiped the water from her face with shaking hands, she couldn’t believe this was considered medical attention by current hunters, surely there were some doctors who were in the loop, even nurses would suffice…Hell— even a veterinarian could have given him something for pain. 

She headed back to Dean and picked up the first aid kit and dumped its contents on the bedside table. She undid the sheet and released his arms before realizing he had finally passed out. “About time...should have just kicked your ass into a coma before we did that. Holy shit, that was intense.”

She grabbed a small pack of burn cream from the kit and smeared it gently on the wound with a piece of gauze before layering it with gauze and medical tape. “Gotta love Silvadine, bet you won’t even have a scar.”

Gloria gently rolled him onto his side and stuffed a pillow behind him, taking care to not put any pressure on his burn wound. She didn’t hesitate as she removed the handcuffs, her stomach dropping at the site of his raw and bleeding wrists. She swallowed dryly as she uncurled his fingers to find moon shaped wounds in his palms where his own fingernails had cut into him. She glanced at the bloody sheet and frowned at the pattern. With a little hesitation, she held his face in her hands and pulled his lips apart. Blood stained his teeth. She pulled her small flashlight from her bag and gently eased his mouth open further. “Looks like you just bit the shit out of your lip and cheek,” she said as she let his head gently fall back to the bed. “Can’t do anything about that though.”

She moved back to his bloody wrists and grabbed the iodine swabs from her the kit. “Least these won’t sting,” she said as she gently swiped the raw and open areas surrounding his wrists. She slowly dabbed the triple antibiotic in place before twining the gauze around his wrists. She exhaustedly tossed the empty packets into the garbage can before laying her hand on Dean’s forehead. He was still burning up. 

“Please say we didn’t just do all that for nothing,” she said as she headed to the bathroom. After wringing some of the cold water from the sheet, she laid it across Dean, making sure to cover everything from his neck down. If a cold sheet didn’t have any effect, they’d end up in the tub again, and frankly they didn’t have much gauze left to redo bandages. She dug through her bag and sighed in relief when she found the bottle of Tylenol. It wouldn’t do much for his pain, but it might bring his fever down some. If she could get him to swallow any… and if he wasn’t allergic…Time to call Bobby again.

Before she managed to call him, the phone went off in her hand. “Bobby?”

“It’s Sam. Did you—“

“It’s done.”

“…How is he doing,” Sam asked hesitantly. He knew that Dean had been in bad shape before and he couldn’t imagine that what Gloria had put him through had made an immediate impact for the better. 

“He’s…well, I wished he would have passed out earlier…He was in agony and calling out for you. In other, better news the mark is gone. I’ve got his wounds cleaned up and covered. As for the fever…it’s still running high. I’ve got a cold wet sheet on him right now and I’ll move him to a cool bath if he needs it,” Gloria explained. “I’ve got some Tylenol, but I wanted to make sure he’s not allergic or anything.”

She could hear a small smile in his voice as he replied. “No, Dean’s never been allergic to anything except the thought of vegetables and insipid pop music.”

Gloria chuckled. “He passed out a few minutes ago, which trust me, was the best thing for him. But as for getting the Tylenol in him, well, you remembered what happened when I offered the Gatorade and pop tart…how do I get Tylenol in an unconscious and food phobic hunter?”

She could hear Sam talking to Bobby in the background for a minute before Sam addressed her again. “Our best suggestion isn’t going to be the most pleasant one, but hopefully he won’t wake up for it—“

“Whoa, whoa, whoa…hold up. If you’re about to go all ‘Trainspotting’ with this and ask me to shove it up his—

“No! Of course not,” Sam said, cutting her off. “…I wouldn’t ask that…unless it was really, really, really necessary…You don’t think that’s necessary yet…do you?”

“No! I don’t think we’re that desperate yet,” Gloria said with a sigh of relief. 

“Good, now, Bobby and I are suggesting that you pop three in his mouth and hold his mouth closed. Hopefully, his swallow reflex will kick in and do all the work for you. If he fights, all we can suggest is holding his mouth shut and cutting off his airway. He’ll swallow in order to breath,” Sam stated. “Not pretty, but it’s the only way at times.”

“I’m getting the impression that Dean has a strong history of being a bad patient,” Gloria said as she shook three Tylenol into her hand. 

Sam laughed almost sadly. “You have no idea. Call us back when you’re done.”

Gloria tossed the phone back onto the table and moved to Dean. His freckles stood out on his flushed skin, his eyes sunken. His breathing was nearly back to normal, except for a slight hitch in his exhale. “Bet you’re hurting. Let’s get this done so I can stop poking and prodding you for a little while.” 

She gently eased the first tablet through his chapped and bloody lips. His eyelids flicked slightly as she slid the second and third tablets into his mouth; each time making her heart skip a beat. She slowly eased his jaw shut and waited, watching his throat hopefully. If he would swallow on his own, it would be better by far. 

She watched as his eyes opened; glassy and unfocused. She watched as his gaze moved across the room, looking for something. 

“Sam is on the way. Can you swallow what’s in your mouth? It’s Tylenol.”

He started at the sound of her voice, wincing as his battered body tensed up, his gaze moving wildly as he tried to focus on her. She watched as he tried to desperately rid himself of the pills. 

“You need to swallow those,” she said gently but firmly. 

The defiant look that crossed his face made her chuckle. “Yeah, I get it. But still, you have to swallow them.” 

As the first pill slid past his lips, she sighed and poked it back in. “Fine. We’ll try it Sam and Bobby’s way.” She laced one hand behind Dean’s neck and clapped the other one over Dean’s mouth and nose. “When you swallow the Tylenol, I’ll let go.”

He tried to pull away from her, his hands coming up defensively when she applied more pressure to his neck. She watched as his fevered green eyes rolled wildly. “I’m sorry, Dean.”

He continued to fight weakly against her, his movements becoming more uncoordinated and panicky the longer it went on. Tears rolled down his fevered cheeks, his eyes glassy and unseeing. Just when Gloria was about to relent and remove her hand, he swallowed the pills. 

“Finally,” she mumbled as she moved her hands away from him. 

Dean’s eyes slid closed; his breathing slow and shaky. Gloria slid down to the floor, leaning against the bed. She closed her eyes and took her own deep breathe. She opened her eyes when she heard Dean mumbling again. 

“Sammy…gotta find me…Sam…”

Gloria turned back to Dean and sighed when she felt another wave of heat coming off of him. “Guess it’s time for another cold sheet, Dean…This is going to be one long ass wait for your brother.”

Somewhere Along the Wisconsin Interstate

Bobby watched Sam out of the corner of his eye. It wasn’t that the boys wanted someone keeping an eye on them; it just seemed that when no one did, things fell to shit. 

“What is it, Bobby,” Sam asked without looking up from the map in his hand. He knew the best route to Fort Eustis, but he kept skimming the pages. He couldn’t sit still; even knowing that Dean was as safe as anyone could make him. It was Sam’s job; he needed to be there. 

Bobby cleared his throat before speaking. “I’m thinking we need to pull over for a few minutes.”

Sam glanced over at the gas gauge. “Didn’t we stop an hour ago?”

“I think we could use a few minutes out of the car,” Bobby stated as he turned the car for an off ramp. 

Sam frowned. “Bobby, I’m good. You want me to drive for awhile?”

“No, Sam, I don’t want you to drive. But I’m guessing by the way you keep rubbing at those stitches in your forehead you’re ready for them to come out. And better we pull over and take care of it now before you sit there and yank them out from being tense and worried.”

“Bobby, I’m okay. Let’s just keep going,” Sam said, even as he caught himself reaching for his forehead. 

Bobby grabbed his hand midair and caught his eye. “We’re pulling over for a minute. And we’re grabbing something to eat while we’re pulled over. And not some gas station egg salad either. You need to eat a real meal.”

“But Bobby, we’re—“

“Shut up, boy! I know you, as soon as we get to Dean you’ll be all mother-henning over him and forget to take care of yourself. I’m not going to nursemaid both of you! You seem to forget you had a nasty concussion, a car crash, and stitches just a little while ago. Now just grab that suture kit from the glove box,” Bobby snapped. “Besides, we need to take a few minutes and talk about Dean.”

Sam froze, his hand in the glove box. “What about Dean?”

Bobby pulled into a parking lot and killed the engine. “We got lucky, real lucky, with Gloria being the one to find him. She said he’s not taking any food or fluids…and unfortunately, until we know why, we’ve got to work around that. We’ve also got a long drive back to South Dakota…we’ll need to make him comfortable… We also need to figure out what our next move is in regards to keeping him safe. We still don’t have any clue what’s taking him and as much as Dean’s health is important…getting to the bottom of this is the real priority, Sam. If he keeps getting taken, it doesn’t matter how much we do for him…if he disappears again, he might deteriorate before we can find him again... It’s time to stop playing nice.”

Sam sat silently, Bobby’s words sinking in. “What are you suggesting we do, Bobby?”

“First… that we get Dean back to the yard…Then, we’re going to have to deck the panic room out with everything we can think of, so start making a list of supplies and ingredients. He’s going to have to wait it out while we figure out something.”

Sam’s eyes widened. “You’re suggesting we lock Dean in the panic room… for however long it takes for us to find out the source of this…” His tone of disbelief and defiance made Bobby scowl. 

“I’m not suggesting it. I’m saying it.”

“Bobby, you know that locking Dean in the panic room…he’s going to hate it…”

“I didn’t say he’s going to like it. But it’s time we do anything and everything we can to keep his ass grounded.”

Sam nodded slowly as he handed the kit to Bobby. He knew Bobby was right, but damn if it wasn’t going to be hard to enforce that kind of decision. He knew that Dean hated the panic room for its practical purposes and yet it was the best option they had…and one that he wouldn’t have considered if it hadn’t been for Bobby pointing it out. 

Without a word Bobby got out of the car and walked around to Sam’s door. Sam swung his feet out of the car and sat silently as Bobby gently clipped the line of stitches before using the tweezers to pull them through. Each man was lost in their thoughts as they went through the motions through that they had become accustomed to over the years. Bobby was as much of a father as a friend; he knew when they needed a soft couch and hot meal and a home to call on, as much as when they needed some tough love. Today, Sam needed both. 

“Us getting Dean isn’t the prize, it’s the beginning of us fighting back. We—Dean—can’t afford for us to relax once we get to him,” Bobby said, breaking the silence. “As much as Dean might not be ready to be on lockdown…it’s come down to that.”

Sam glanced up at Bobby, his jaw tight. He hesitantly nodded. “Agreed.”

52°45′7.66″N 23°52′44.86″E

Crowley sighed again, it wasn’t the first time Castiel had just up and body snatched him and it certainly wouldn’t be the last; certainly not if their deal came to fruition. 

“Maybe we could just address your needs via a phone,” Crowley stated as he turned to face the angel. 

Castiel frowned at Crowley. “I get the impression that you are not agreeable to our current meeting schedule.”

“If only we had a bloody schedule! Castiel, you are an angel…I would presume that you are busy. And I—I am the bloody King of bloody Hell! I am busy! I have contracts to review, information to extract from minions, and tithes to collect and count—do you have any idea how long it takes to count the souls tithed to hell each year and to issue receipts for those kinds of deliveries?! I am busy, so yes—I am annoyed with your lack of empathy towards my own responsibilities.”

Castiel stared at Crowley, his face absent of emotion. “I apologize.”

“I don’t want a bloody apology! I want to know what you want so I can get back to what I was doing!”

“What where you doing,” Castiel asked, his head cocking slightly to one side. 

Crowley’s eyes closed in frustration. “I was working to eliminate a loophole in a contract,” he said through gritted teeth. “Now I’m going to have to find that little shit demon again before they strike another non-binding contract with some pathetically miserable bastard.”

Castiel stood silent. 

“Can we get on with it then,” Crowley snapped with a wave of his hand. “What do you want?”

“I was curious to find out of you or your lesser demons have located Dean Winchester,” Castiel stated. “I have heard no word on his whereabouts but Sam and Bobby have stopped praying to me. Has he been found?”

Crowley frowned. “No, I’ve got people looking. So far, he’s not turned up anywhere. Now, if you would excuse me, I have several things that need addressing.”

Castiel placed his hand on Crowley’s arm, his eyes burning fiercely. “If I find that you have lied to me, I will be swift and just with my vengeance.”

Crowley scoffed and pulled his arm away from Castiel. “If I hear anything, I’ll contact you. Otherwise, let’s keep these meetings to a minimum. We don’t want Heaven or Hell to get suspicious, now do we? If your obsession with Dean Winchester costs me the Purgatory deal…I’ll skin him alive and throw him to my dogs.”

Fort Eustis, Newport News, Virginia

Gloria rubbed her eyes; she was exhausted, but she knew that no matter how tired she was, Dean felt a hundred times worse. She was perched on the end of the bed, one hand ready to check the sheet. She had been rewetting the sheet with cold water nearly every twenty minutes for the last two hours. Dean’s temperature would start to drop only to suddenly rise again, each time bringing with it incoherent mutterings and fevered nightmares. She continued to push Tylenol into his mouth, each time praying it would have the desired effect. 

“Time for the tub,” she said with an exhausted sigh. “Your brother’s going to owe me big time for this.”

She hooked him under the arms and heaved him upright as a shudder wracked his frame. Gloria waited for it to pass before pulling him from the bed. His skin burned hot against her. She knew his lack of sweating was the beginning of a bad thing, dehydration. She needed to find a way to get fluids into him. 

He fought weakly against her as she did her best to maneuver him into the tub, feet and legs first before she pushed his hips into the room temperature water. As the water touched him, his muscles tensed, his body arching against the tub. He began to mutter, this time more threatening than helpless. She smiled tiredly at the idle threat. 

“Look at me, Dean. “

Dean’s head rolled weakly on his shoulders, his eyes opening slowly. It was the first sign of self-recognition she had seen from him. She looked into his fever bright, bloodshot eyes; hoping for any sign that he was better off for having had the mark burned off of him. 

“You in there,” she asked slowly. 

Dean didn’t respond to her question. “Where is Sammy...Want Sam…”

“Sam is on the way,” Gloria said firmly. “How are you doing?”

Dean’s eyes closed for a second before Gloria have him a sharp jab to the chest. His eyes opened, slightly quicker this time.

“How are you feeling?”

Dean grunted before muttering. “Where are the others?”

“Others? Other what?”

Dean pushed her arms away, causing him to sink lower in the tub; he gasped as the water rose around him. “The other men,” he spat angrily as his head dropped against the tiled wall. He glared at her as she sat on her haunches, becoming eye level with him. 

“I have no other men,” she said evenly. “You are Dean Winchester, you’re running a fever. I’m Gloria Johnson. I found you while on patrol here on Fort Eustis. We’re in Virginia. Can you tell me how you got here?”

Dean chuckled sadly. “Not falling for that….not fooling me…”

Gloria watched as Dean’s eyes closed again. She sighed before picking up her cell phone again and angrily dialed Bobby. 

“Everything alright,” Bobby barked into the phone. 

“Look, I don’t care how long that road is or how far away you guys are, you get your asses down here faster,” Gloria said snapped as she yanked the last of the dry towels from the rack.

“What’s wrong,” Bobby asked, concern springing into his voice. 

“I think I just had my first conversation—if you want to call it that—with Dean. He’s confused and I’m going to go out on a limb and say he’s paranoid. He thinks I’m…I don’t know…he thinks I have more men somewhere… It doesn’t make any sense but he thinks I’m trying to fool him. Like none of this is real,” Gloria explained as her frustration and exhaustion seeped into her voice. 

She listened to Bobby and Sam murmuring in the background. She was surprised when Sam suddenly began talking to her. 

“I know paranoia sounds bad, but honestly, that’s pretty normal for Dean when he’s running a really high fever,” Sam explained. “I’m guessing the fever hasn’t broke yet?”

Gloria shook her head tiredly. “No.”

“Tylenol, cold sheets, cool bath—“

“Done it all,” Gloria stated. “He’s dehydrated, Sam. And he still won’t take any fluids.”

Sam was silent for a few minutes before he spoke up. “What about you?”

“What?”

“You. You’ve been up with him for hours now and before that you were on patrol,” Sam said. “How long you been up?”

Gloria fought back a yawn. “I got a catnap earlier when I was in the tub with him. Other than that…I don’t know…doesn’t matter. How far out are you?”

Sam sighed into the phone. “Still quite a ways. Try to get some sleep, you both need it.”

“I’ll do what I can,” Gloria said with a yawn. “You think of anything else that might help, call me.”

She tossed her phone back on the edge of the sink and turned to Dean. He was staring at her, his glassy eyes tracking her as she paced the room. 

“Your fever down any yet,” she asked as she crossed the room and laid her hand across his forehead. He pulled away from her, barely an inch before he stopped. He laid his head on the edge of the tub and went back to mumbling. 

“Sammy,” he murmured. “Gonna find me, Sammy…”

“Nothing’s going to get you, not while I’m here.” Gloria sighed and let the water drain from the tub. “Let’s try to get some sleep. We could both use it. If you kick or hog the bed, I’ll shoot you; you understand me?”


	13. Cabin Fever

Gloria woke as a soft sound caught her ears. She opened her eyes slowly letting them adjust to the dim room. Rain still pounded on the roof and thunder cracked in the distance. A shadow on the wall caught her eye, making her rise from the bed slightly. “Dean?”

She rolled over and felt her heart freeze in her chest. Dean lay a foot from her, his green eyes wild with panic as tears rolled down his flushed cheeks as he stared up at a—Gloria had no name for it….It was tall, its skin gray and leathery. A long fingered hand was held tightly to Dean’s mouth, covering it, cutting off his air and any plea for help. It locked eyes with Gloria, a low, guttural growl cutting through the air, jolting her out of her shock. 

She rolled off the bed and grabbed her Beretta from the table before whirling around and taking aim. It bared its long jagged teeth at her as it continued to hold its hand over Dean’s mouth; as though her presence was little deterrent to its errand. Gloria’s eyes flicked to Dean; his hands were clutching at the bed sheets, his knuckles white from his grip. 

“What are you,” Gloria demanded as she flipped off the safety. 

The being in the room shifted and leered at her but didn’t move from Dean’s side. 

“Dean, listen to me—“

“He listens to us now,” it rasped at her, interrupting her attempt to soothe Dean’s panic; the perverse smile on its face made her stomach sink.

Gloria didn’t hesitate as she pulled the trigger, counting until she was halfway through the clip. She lowered the firearm, seeing nothing but holes in the far wall and Dean quaking on the bed, his hands held tightly around his stomach as he listed from side to side. A low guttural noise from the kitchen made her leap towards Dean, pushing him towards the headboard as she placed herself between Dean and whatever was lurking inside the cabin with them. A shift in the shadows outside of the bedroom door startled her, making her snake a protective arm around Dean, pushing him further behind her. 

She walked slowly to the door, looking cautiously through the doorway before slamming it shut and using the last of the salt to lay down a heavy line. She shoved the dresser in front of it before grabbing her cellphone and dialing Sam. 

“Something’s in the cabin with us,” she whispered as soon as he answered. 

“Is Dean still with you,” Sam demanded. “Is he alright?”

“We’re okay,” Gloria whispered. “I’ve got salt lines at all the doors and windows…how the hell did it get in here?”

“I don’t know—“

“What the hell do I do now? I’ve used half my ammunition, the last of the salt, and a dresser to barricade the door.”

“That might be all you can do, for now, except to maybe handcuff yourself to Dean…you’d lose your ability to fight, but you’ll keep him grounded to you. If you’ve got any iron or silver, use that too. You might as well cover all of your bases.”

“And that’s going to work,” Gloria asked as Dean began to cough. 

“More like a theory,” Sam admitted. “We’re working on it.”

Before Gloria could reply, the sound of Dean gagging caught her ear and drew her attention. 

“Call you back,” she snapped as she dropped the call and rushed to Dean. His lips were turning blue, his eyes wide with panic as he clawed at his throat. She pulled him to the side of bed and pushed his hands away, not hesitating this time as she jammed her fingers into his mouth, trying to find the source of the problem. She felt the edge of something lodged far back in his throat and fought to get ahold of it. 

“Don’t swallow, whatever it is, don’t swallow it, Dean,” Gloria whispered just as she felt it slide past her fingertips. Dean gagged and coughed as he swallowed the foreign object, his eyes locking onto Gloria’s. They stared at each other for a few seconds before Dean spoke.

“….please…,” he rasped, his voice raw and broken.

Gloria nodded before grabbing him and pulling him upright on the bed, forcing his head down low between his knees, and shoved her fingers back into his throat. She felt the first heave shake his whole body, his back arching from the tension. His hands twisted the bed sheets as she fought to make him expel the contents of his stomach. Gloria ignored the bile that suddenly flowed from the man’s mouth, running down her hand and arm, her eyes searching the waste for the object they were desperately trying to dispel from him. One more painful and breathless heave brought up the object. 

Gloria immediately recognized the crescent shaped pastry, its appearance near identical to the one Dean had thrown up in the car earlier that morning. She frowned as she discovered that part of the pastry was missing, a portion that somehow Dean hadn’t been able to force loose. She fished the pastry from the bile and tossed it aside before grabbing a cold, wet wash cloth for Dean. He lay motionless on the bed, not even bothering to fight her as she gently cleaned his face and hands. He watched her silently, his eyes full of exhaustion and glassy from fever. 

Long after she had cleaned them both up, Dean continued to dry heave, his arms wrapped protectively around his stomach. His head rested upon his knees, his back to the bed’s headboard. She could almost see the effect of the pastry on him as his body digested it; whatever it was, it was breaking down into his system rapidly. His hands began to tremble, the sound of the handcuffs clinking together catching her attention. She sat close with her back to him, her eyes trained on the door and her hand on her Beretta. She could feel the heat rising from him from just inches away. 

She scooted up the bed towards him, moving slowly. “Dean?”

He whimpered and burrowed his face further into his arms. 

“Dean, can you hear me?”

“Let me go…want to go home…”

“We’re working on it, okay, Dean? Can you tell me what that thing was?”

Dean lifted his face from his knees, rubbing his eyes. His gaze wandered around the room, not stopping to look at anything particular. Gloria moved closer, grabbing his chin and forcing his face towards her own. She frowned and cursed when she saw the milky whiteness of his eyes, she could barely make out the edges of his widely blown pupils through the haze. “Dammit, Dean. What the hell did that thing do to you?” 

Sweat began to break out across his skin, making him shiver. Gloria gently laid a hand on the nape of his neck, feeling the heat once more flare across his skin. As her hand lingered on his neck, his eyes finally settled on her; a look of confusion crossed his face before he pulled away from her touch, cowering against the headboard. 

“Let me go…you’re not her…she’s dead…”

Gloria moved towards him and spoke softly. “Dean, you with me, man?”

He jerked, startled by her voice, his hands coming up defensively but immediately covering his mouth. 

“…No more...Sammy…”

“Shit! I forgot about Sam…” Gloria exclaimed as she grabbed the phone and dialed. 

“What the hell is happening down there,” Sam yelled into the phone, anger and concern mixing in his voice. 

“We’re okay, at least for now…sort of,” Gloria said as she heard a soft murmur from Dean. She grabbed her pack and began to sort through the contents for anything else to protect them with. “Whatever it was, it forced something into Dean’s mouth. I made him throw it up, but it looks like part of it just isn’t going to come back up, pretty sure whatever it was has hit his bloodstream…his fever had skyrocketed again, his eyes have gone white and his pupils are blown…he’s delirious, I think.”

“This just keeps getting better and better,” Sam muttered into the phone. “We’ve got to figure this out.”

“No shit, Sherlock,” Gloria snapped. 

“Any chance you can move Dean out of there,” Sam asked. 

“Not without knowing what’s on the other side of the door,” Gloria explained. “We’re sitting ducks.”

“Did it was say anything,” Sam asked. “Or give any clue why it wants Dean?”

“It didn’t even act like I was a threat…but it did make a run for it when I started shooting... Although, it could have left because it got what it wanted…it got that pastry thing into Dean’s mouth. It’s acting like a poison almost, I would have sworn to you that when he was in the tub, his fever was down and he responded to his name. As soon as he digested part of that thing, he went back to fevered and crazy,” Gloria explained. “It said ‘he listens to us now’ and that’s kinda discomforting at the moment.”

The phone was silent as Bobby and Sam spoke in the background. She could hear the beginnings of an argument before Sam suddenly returned to the phone. 

“Gloria, we’re won’t be there until about sunrise, and we’re already breaking every speed limit between us and you,” Sam said apologetically. “It’s a twenty one hour drive without stops…”

“I know,” Gloria said with a frown. “Trust me, if I could get us out of here, I would. I’ll be lucky if the military police don’t kick the door down to investigate the gunshots. I’m so getting court martialed for this…”

“Lucky for you, there’s a huge storm right over you guys,” Sam said. “Lots of thunder and lightning.”

Gloria nodded and glanced toward the window. “Hopefully the campground is empty then, except for us. In the meantime, I’m down some serious supplies. Some of our stuff is in the kitchen and as for Dean, well, I’m not sure what to do for him anymore. His fever seems to be driven by whatever they gave him, probably his body trying to fight it off. We’re out of gauze too and what he has on is soaked. I should have driven his ass to the hospital…”

“Gloria, trust me, you could be without power, water, and warmth and Dean would still be better off with you than he has been at times in the past…and no hospitals, please. Trust me, they can’t begin to help him and we’ll have a hell of a time getting him out if he starts rambling crazy stuff. We’ve got to avoid a psych visit at all costs…He’s tough, he can hang on until we get there,” Sam explained. “But that doesn’t answer the big question now…”

“How to protect him?”

“No…if you’re pinned down on Fort Eustis…how do we get on base to help you?”

25.7877° N, 80.2241° W

Castiel stood at the edge of the dock, his eyes closed and face tilted towards the setting sun. A passerby might imagine he was enjoying the sound of the waves, warmth of the sun, or any one of the reasons people flocked to the water’s edge. He was, in fact, listening to the heavenly chatter about the war that continued to rage in Heaven. He knew that the longer it went on; Heaven’s structure would weaken and crumble. It would be a prime time to take over the empire that God had abandoned. A small nudge here…there… it was easy work to undermine the authority of those that still held rank. 

He would set it all right when he assumed authority. 

First though, he needed Purgatory. And that meant negotiating with Crowley. For every light, there must be darkness. If people had nothing to fear, they had no motivation to be good. No reason to strive to overcome their human flaws. He needed some motivation and Crowley would be the one to provide it. ‘Well controlled chaos,’ Castiel thought to himself as he smiled lightly. 

“I have something for you,” a gravelly voice stated, interrupting his thoughts. 

Castiel turned and frowned. “You found him?”

“Something like that, yes,” Crowley said. “He’s in Virginia. Bobby and Sam are on their way to him now.”

“How do you know this? Did one of your people find him?”

“No. For all our efforts, we missed him. Not surprising though, Virginia is a place I’d rather avoid. It’s a rather low ranking state for deal making…not a profitable market, too many gun-toting, Jeep driving types. Now, people who live in the Bible belt and drive minivans…those are the easy targets. Anyhow, one of my people heard it from Bobby and Sam themselves,” Crowley said smugly. 

Castiel stared at Crowley. “When?”

“Earlier today, they stopped for a bite to eat at a diner near the interstate…waitresses do make the best spies. They’re headed to him now. He’s with a hunter and therefore not our problem any longer.”

“And your people will not pursue him?”

Crowley smiled. “I have bigger fish to fry than Dean Winchester…such as Purgatory. My people have orders to stay away from the Winchesters until things change.”

“What things,” Castiel asked, his eyes flashing.

“You know…things. Once the power struggle is all over in Heaven and you and I run the world, I’ll have to revisit some old scores,” Crowley explained casually as he moved to the dock’s edge. “Why are we meeting here? It reeks of dead fish.”

Castiel turned toward the water. “I enjoy the sailboats.”

“Sailboats,” Crowley scoffed. “Waste of time. There’s a special circle of hell for sailors, did you know that?”

Castiel glanced at Crowley, unsure if he was misidentifying sarcasm. “They are beautiful. There is one coming in later that once belonged to Clarke Gable. I would very much like to see it dock.”

Crowley shook his head. “Angels…you’ve seen everything in the world and you’re going to wait here for some ratty old boat that probably belongs to some over sexed, speedo wearing man. We have work to do, Castiel. Surely, there is something that needs you attention.”

“Do we know yet what was taking Dean?”

“No and as far as I’m concerned, it’s not our problem to handle.”

Castiel nodded as he felt Crowley vanish from his side. If Dean or Sam needed him, they would call upon him. With their Enochian markings, it was still impossible to find them without first being summoned or called. He turned his attention back to the glittering waves. He had more important things to do than worry about Dean. Dean had Sam and Bobby watching out for him; and it was time they learned that Castiel was no longer just an angel available for their beck and call. He was about to be a god. 

Fort Eustis, Newport News, Virginia

Gloria shifted the last of the furniture against the door. She had already moved everything except the bed but she couldn’t help rearranging the furniture for another time. She was full of nervous energy and being trapped by a mystery monster in small room occupied by a paranoid, delusion-ridden hunter was enough to make her want to count her ammunition for a third time. 

Behind her, Dean was huddled in the corner of the room, his back to the wall. His milky eyes were closed against the dim light. Gloria watched as he rubbed at his eyes again, a confused look on his face. She moved slowly toward him, the handcuffs tucked back in her pocket. His hands shook as she placed her hand on his forehead. 

Before he could say anything, she spoke. “Sam’s coming.”

He pushed his face into his arms, hiding from her as best as he could.

“Sammy…”

“Dean, look at me,” Gloria said, almost overcome with the desperation to be away from the room and the two beings she needed to keep apart at all costs. “Look at me!”

Dean slowly raised his head, his milky eyes looking right through her. He shivered, fear evident on his face. 

“Dean, what do you see?”

Somewhere in Dean’s Mind 

Dean was lost. 

He knew that something was nearby, something that knew his name. His head throbbed as he tried to fight through the confusion. He felt every thought slip away from him, leaving him more and more confused the harder he tried to focus on what was happening. 

Sensations assailed him as lights and colors came at him from all directions, making it impossible to see. He squinted, trying to focus on his surroundings, terrified that the monster was coming back. He had seen it; he knew he had; its real face leering down at him while keeping him from screaming. He wondered where he really was, or if he had even escaped the shack. Dean knew that just because he couldn’t see it didn’t mean he had escaped it. Plenty of fuglies could mess with your head, turning your reality upside down and inside out. He couldn’t see anything except bright lights and colors, his head throbbed painfully as another wave of nausea rolled over him. 

He could hear something nearby, footsteps loud and harsh to his suddenly sensitive hearing. His heart beat loudly in his chest, making it hard for him to hear the noise as it approached. He clenched his fists and resolved that no matter what, he’d fight back this time. The first touch to his forehead was hesitant and almost soothing, its skin cool against the fire that raged under his own skin. He pulled in a shaky breath and lashed out, making contact against something hard. He cowered further against the wall, his vision swimming. 

“…get away from me…,” he slurred. His head pounded in his skull, the sensation of the throbbing made it feel as though his head was about to explode. 

“Dean, calm down,” a voice said from nearby. “It’s okay.”

“It’s not okay,” Dean yelled out, his voice painfully loud to his sensitive ears. 

“Can you look at me?”

Dean burrowed his head into his arms. He wasn’t going to give the fugly the satisfaction. He’d ignore it until Sammy came and killed it for him. 

“Go away…”

“I’m not going away,” the voice snapped. “Now look at me.”

A cold hand slid under his chin and lifted his head up; he felt as though his head weighed a hundred pounds. He slowly looked up, wondering what he was going to see. Colors blurred and swirled, making his stomach roll, as he tried to focus in on the figure before him. 

He scoffed and rolled his head out of the hand when he caught a glimpse of blonde hair. “How many times you gonna look like her….she’s dead and gone… nice try…”

The hand pulled away. “Dean, you’ve gotta pull it together—“

Dean shivered at the sound of his dad’s voice. He opened his eyes and felt his stomach drop. 

“How much longer we gonna do this for…,” he asked angrily. “They’re all dead…my fault…”

“I’m sure it’s not,” the voice said, something about it this time making him uncomfortable. The voice was sincere; unrecognizable. He rubbed his eyes, refusing to open them; refusing to see what fresh hell his captors had laid out for him. 

“Leave me alone…” he snapped.   
He listened to a curious sigh and the being walking away from him. He moved one hand to his stomach as it growled in hunger, he couldn’t remember the last time he had eaten something other than whatever those fuglies had forced into him. 

The memory of the overly sweet pastry made his stomach churn with want. His mouth was dry, thirst settling over him. How much longer until Sam saved him? Where was Cas? Didn’t anyone care he was missing?

Fort Eustis, Newport News, Virginia

Gloria sat a few feet from Dean toying with the hand cuffs. She wasn’t sure he was going to tolerate being tethered to her, in fact, she knew he wasn’t. He had struck out at her, his incoordination landing the blow on her shoulder rather than her face. 

She glanced at her watch again, calculating the hours until Sam and Bobby would be arriving. They still had a few hours to go. She sighed and watched Dean rub his eyes again. The whiteness of his eyes was unnerving at best. He continued to try to look around the room but if she moved or spoke his agitation and accusations returned. She wanted to get a good look at his burn site, but until he fell asleep or became less combative, she knew she had to wait. 

A soft sound on the other side of the door caught her attention, making her grip her Beretta tightly. She knew there was no way that it was Bobby or Sam out there; it had to be one of those things. After a minute of listening to it, her anger got the better of her. She walked to the door and knocked forcefully. 

“Listen up! I’m armed, pissed off, and tired. You wanna make a move to get in here, you better be prepared to meet your maker!”

A soft scratching on the door answered her, sending a shiver down her spine. 

“We’ve come for the tribute,” a gravelly voice said from behind the door. 

Gloria gripped her Beretta and leveled it at the door, trying to determine the exact place the voice was coming from. “Tribute, huh? Sounds a lot like something we’re not interested in.”

“The tribute will come when called,” the gravelly voice said. “It is time.”

Gloria glanced at Dean. He was sitting perfectly still and staring straight at the door. Light twitches near his cheek made her anger boil over. 

“Does he have to be alive for the role of tribute,” Gloria snapped angrily as she mentally counted up her ammunition again. She could spare one or two for a good show. 

A growl near the door followed by a string of indecipherable murmurs caused Dean to stand, clutching the wall for support. The murkiness of his eyes seemed to look right through her as he took a step toward the door, his legs shaking with the effort.

Gloria pulled the trigger and flinched as the sound echoed through the small room. She stared at the splintered hole in the wooden door and smirked, wondering if she had hit the mysterious being on the other side. 

“If he so much as moves another muscle towards this door, I’ll shoot him and then neither one of us will have him, understand me,” she exclaimed, confidence oozing from her voice. “I’ve got plenty ammunition to do the job. Don’t test me.”

A loud screech echoed through the cabin before a subtly sweet aroma filled the room. 

“Really, cookies at a time like this? Ah, you’re killing me,” she murmured as she turned back toward Dean, wondering if the being had released its hold over him. 

Dean stumbled backwards until his back hit the wall, sliding down on weak legs until he was sitting on the floor. His head rocked side to side as he rubbed at his eyes. Gloria kneeled next to him and sighed. Dark lines under his eyes matched the hand print shaped bruise that spanned his face. 

“Your brother’s going to think I beat you up,” Gloria said as she slipped the handcuffs back in place. She stared at the miserable and fevered man and sighed deeply. Whatever they were, they had some serious power over the young man. “Let’s hope Sam and Bobby figure this out soon…”

Newport News, Virginia

“You sure about this,” Bobby asked. 

Sam shrugged in the dim motel light that glowed overhead. “Gloria said this is what we have to do to get on base.”

Bobby frowned and adjusted his cap. “I don’t like going in unarmed.”

Sam glanced back at the motel room door as he shifted gears and pulled the Impala back onto the road. They had no intention of sleeping there, but the arsenal had to be left behind and a motel was the only option they had. 

“I don’t like it either, but we can’t go in guns blazing. I’m amazed the Army will even let civilians on base; and if we’re going to look and act like civilians, we can’t very well show up with a car full of weapons,” Sam said with another shrug. 

“Well, as long as the housekeeping girls doesn’t find the half dozen duffel bags full of knives, guns, and fake IDs; we’ll be fine,” Bobby said. “I’m not half as worried about the weapons staying behind as I am about getting on base. Can’t we just find some spell to get him off the base?”

Sam chuckled. “Nope, not this time. We’ve got to drive on base and undergo inspection.”

“Exactly what I’m worried about,” Bobby mumbled. 

Sam turned off the main drag and followed the blacktop until signs for the Army base came into view. He slowed the car and maneuvered through the maze of designated lanes before spotting the metal frame building they would have to pass through for base entry. 

“Now Gloria said to just not act weird and let them do their thing,” Sam said with a shaky sigh. “We’ve gotten through worse…”

“Can’t we just use some fake military or government IDs to get on base,” Bobby asked with a huff. “I always wanted to be a drill sergeant…”

Sam laughed. “You’re already one, Bobby. But no, we don’t want to attract any official attention or have anyone try to escort us or anything. Civilian is the best way.”

“Says you.”

Bobby grunted as a uniformed man waved them forward into the low hanging opening of the building before motioning for Sam to kill the engine. Sam and Bobby waited silently until the soldier leaned down to the window and said, “Good morning, gentlemen. We’ll need to have you exit the vehicle, open all the doors, the trunk and hood, and wait at the front of the vehicle during inspection. Also, we’ll need to see some valid photo identification.”

Sam and Bobby slowly slid from the Impala, Bobby heading for the front while Sam circled the car, opening everything as he did. He smiled disarmingly to the uniformed man as he handed over the driver’s licenses they had put together earlier. 

Bobby and Sam watched as the group of men circled the car; one man peered into the interior while another man walked around the car looking underneath it with a mirror performing the routine bomb check. As two of the men peered into the trunk, Sam groaned inwardly. He had fastened down the false bottom of the trunk securely enough, but the devil’s trap was still painted on the inside of the trunk. 

Bobby caught his eye and shook his head, he knew that few people could recognize it and frankly, if they could, they were the kind of people that might be willing to help them out. 

One of the uniformed men handed Sam their driver’s licenses and asked, “Who you folks here to see?”

Sam cleared his throat before answering. “Gloria Johnson. We knew her dad before he passed away and thought we’d stop by and see her on her day off.”

The man nodded as he looked at his clip board, not really listening. “You know where you’re headed?”

“Uh… she gave us directions,” Sam said, watching the inspection from the corner of his eye. If they had overlooked something in the car…he wasn’t really sure what would happen but they didn’t have time to find out. Gloria and Dean needed them.

“Alright, close up your car and you can continue on your route,” the man said as he motioned towards the car. Sam and Bobby sprang into action and pulled away from the metal building before continuing toward the main gate. 

As Bobby and Sam drove through the last gate that stood between them and Dean, a uniformed man leaned out of the small booth and motioned them on. “Welcome to Fort Eustis.”


	14. Who's That Knocking on My Chamber Door

Fort Eustis, Newport News, Virginia

Gloria listened as another noise came from the hallway. She was exhausted, unable to sleep for fear that Dean would be taken or that the monstrous being would return. She listened to soft footsteps pause outside the door, the sound of the door handle being twisted catching her attention. She tensed, drawing her weapon from her side. 

“Bobby, is that you?”

The door shook in its frame as the door handle was shaken violently. 

“Sam? Sam, is that you?”

Gloria gripped her Beretta as the scratching sounds returned at the doorway. She took another shaky breathe and glanced back at Dean. He was sprawled on the bed, his head rolling from side to side slightly as he stared at things she couldn’t see; talking to people that weren’t there. His eyes were still milky white, the hand print shaped bruise that graced his face appearing dark against his to pale skin. She laid a hand over his forehead, his skin dry and hot under her hand. He pulled away from her touch, something like a growl coming from behind his frown. She moved away from him, not really sure if she was a match for him anymore as exhaustion coursed through her. If he decided to fight her, she’d be in trouble. 

She rubbed her hands over her tired eyes and sighed deeply as the sound at the door grew louder. She aimed at the door and let another round loose, leaving another splintered hole in the door. Her head throbbed and her vision was blurring around the edges, but in her exhaustion, she was proud of her aim.

She knew the ammo was running low and that if Bobby didn’t get there soon, there would be trouble. Her stomach growled hungrily as she considered how long they had been stuck in the room. 

Gloria leaned against the foot of the bed, her back to Dean as she listened to the sound at the door. Her vision dimmed as her head bobbed on her shoulders, her eyes snapping open in fear of falling asleep. “Can’t fall asleep, right Dean,” she asked as she hauled herself to her feet. “Gotta stay awake.”

Dean’s head turned toward her, his incoherent mutterings getting slightly louder for a moment before he quieted back down. 

Gloria paced the small room, trying to call upon her training and the memories of her dad. She knew her grip on reality was going to start slipping soon, if it hadn’t already. She had seen what stress, fear, and sleep deprivation could do to someone; she’d been through worse than this, but this…this was a new kind of fear, a new kind of hell. She just had to stay awake until Bobby got there. Staying awake kept you alive at times like these, but the exhaustion…it could be a real killer. 

Fort Eustis, Newport News, Virginia

Bobby turned the map in his hands, trying to make heads or tails of the messy map Sam had drawn out following Gloria’s instructions of the base. He grunted and pointed to the left before glancing at Sam. The closer they had gotten to Dean, the tenser and quieter Sam had gotten. Bobby was beginning to worry; Sam had always been the more emotional of the boys, prone to everything from pouting to outbursts. He knew Sam was anxious to get to Dean; it had been over a week since they had laid eyes on Dean and Bobby knew that he was bound to be in bad shape. He wished they had taken the time to get their hands on some medical equipment but without seeing Dean first, he could only guess what they might need for him. 

Rain still poured down as they cruised past rows of houses; neighborhoods littered with playgrounds and sidewalks. Here and there lights shone in the houses as men and women prepared for another day on base. Bobby had seen military bases before and this one seemed like all the rest. 

“Looks a little surreal for a military base,” Sam muttered as he stared past the windshield wipers. “I was expecting more tanks and fewer playgrounds, I guess.”

“Oh, they’ve got tanks. And everything else you can image,” Bobby assured him. “But the families have to live somewhere too and just cause the soldiers live in hell doesn’t mean their families have to. We’ll blend easier since the base isn’t entirely personal in uniform; we’ll look like visitors as long as we can keep our heads down and get Dean off base without causing a scene.”

Sam nodded silently and turned the car, trying to follow Bobby’s instructions. As the car rolled up to a chain link fence with ‘Authorized Personal Only’ signs hanging from it, he cursed under his breath and ran a hand over his face. He was exhausted and tense from stress. He didn’t even know why he had offered to drive; his head throbbed as another headache started, just another late effect from his accident with the Impala. 

“Just turn back, Sam. We must have taken a wrong turn.”

Sam sighed in frustration and threw it into reverse, bringing the car around with more tire squealing than necessary. Bobby caught his eye and shook his head. “Cool it, Sam. We’ll get there.”

Sam blinked tears of frustration out of his eyes, he was so close to Dean and yet he couldn’t follow a simple map he had drawn himself. “I can’t, Bobby. We’re so close…What if we get there and he’s...”

“Stop the car, Sam.”

Sam let the car come to a halt in the middle of the empty street and threw it into park. He sat silently clutching the wheel as Bobby got out of car into the rain and walked to the driver’s side door. Bobby yanked it open with the telltale squeak and scowled at him. “Move over. I’m driving. You’re navigating. And he’ll be there, might not be in good shape but he’ll be there. Gloria’s capable of holding her own, Dean’s too.”

Sam nodded, unable to speak as the knot in his throat swelled. He cleared his throat and wiped a hand over his eyes as he slid across the seat. He didn’t have the same relationship with Bobby that Dean did, but Bobby was certainly the closest thing to a father, or even just a caring friend, that they had. As much as he hated Bobby for being seeing his frustration and exhaustion, he appreciated Bobby stepping in. 

The base was bigger than he had imagined and he immediately wished he was taken the time to review its map online. 

“This is like finding a needle in a haystack,” he muttered as he turned the poorly drawn map in his hand. “Which direction is North on this thing?”

“You made the damn thing,” Bobby chuckled. “You figure it out.”

Sam frowned as he turned the map in his hands several times. “What the hell was I doing when I made this?”

Bobby grabbed the hand drawn map and chucked it into the backseat. “You’re still working off the tail end of a whopping concussion. Forget the map, we’ll find the cabins without it. There’s gotta be signs for them.”

Sam and Bobby drove through the wide streets, heads swiveling at every posted sign. Bobby finally pointed to one showing a cabin and turned the car down the small paved lane. Several cabins came into view, lit by the lightning that still flashed overhead. Their headlights cut through the rain and cast shadows on the walls of the small buildings. Bobby spotted Gloria’s car and pulled next to it before killing the engine. 

“Let’s go get your brother,” Bobby muttered as he slipped from the car. They dashed silently up the steps before pausing on the small porch. Sam immediately tried to shove the door open before Bobby grabbed his arm. “Hold up, Sam. We’ve got to have a plan before going in.”

“You think that whatever was in there with them is still here,” Sam asked as he patted his pockets down for any sort of weapon. He knew he wasn’t quite running at normal capacity. His head throbbed as he tried to recall if he and Bobby had already discussed the likelihood of coming face to face with one of the things that was stealing Dean. 

Bobby shook his head. “We’re just going to have to wing it. We’ve got no weapons and no knowledge of how to kill them even if we did. Just keep an eye out and your head down. We need to be quiet in case we can use the element of surprise.”

After his third failed attempt to pick the lock, Bobby nudged Sam out the way and popped it open after the first try. He was worried about Sam; the kid looked like shit warmed over and he was starting to show all the signs of being pushed past exhaustion. If Sam didn’t take a breather, Bobby was going to have to rewrite the ground rules for tagging along on a hunt. He couldn’t have Sam down at a time like this, not when Dean was going to need so much attention. 

They crept into the dark cabin and closed the door silently behind them, each pulling a small flashlight from their jacket. Bobby pointed to the intact salt line at the door and motioned for Sam to follow him. The living room was void of anything interesting, but Bobby paused in the kitchen; a sinking feeling in his gut. A few displaced groceries and first aid items littered the counter and a blackened ladle lay in the sink, a bloody washcloth next to it. He saw Sam pale slightly at the sight of the items. Bobby caught his eye and shook his head, it wasn’t unexpected; they knew what Gloria had done. 

A sound from the dark hallway caught their attention, Bobby immediately moving between Sam and the doorway. He knew that Sam’s reflexes were slow and cumbersome; not the ideal hunting partner to have watching your back when searching for an unidentified monster. Bobby grabbed a knife from the kitchen counter and slowly moved into the dark hallway, Sam staying a step behind him. 

Bobby heard it again; a soft scratching sound that seemed to be coming from somewhere nearby. Bobby walked slowly up the hallway, his flashlight illuminating some wood splinters littering the floor. He kneeled down and picked a few from the floor, turning them in his hand. Sam hovered over him, taking a few of the splinters from Bobby’s outstretched hand. Bobby shined his flashlight around and immediately spotted the bullet holes peppering the door. Before Bobby could stop him, Sam grabbed the doorknob and twisted it firmly, jerking the door on its hinge.

“Where the hell are—“

Bobby hit the floor as the loud sound of a gunshot rang out, Sam suddenly slamming into the wall opposite the door. 

“SAM!”

Bobby sprang into action and grabbed Sam by the shirt and dragged him further down the hallway and out the way just as another bullet came barreling through the door, splinters exploding into the air. 

“Dammit, Gloria! It’s us!! Stop shooting!” 

Bobby didn’t stop for a reply as he turned his attention back to Sam.

“Where were you hit, boy,” Bobby asked frantically as he scrambled to find one of the dropped flashlights. He finally managed to grab one from the floor before turning back to Sam. “Balls.” 

Sam was slumped against the wall, his skin pale and clammy in the dim light. Blood rushed from his shoulder, rivers of it trailing down his arm and chest, creating a puddle on the floor. Bobby swallowed the lump in his throat and tried to hold the flashlight steady as he pulled his flannel over shirt off. He didn’t say anything as he surveyed the damage, trying to keep the thoughts of Sam’s pain out of his mind. He… no, they couldn’t afford for him to get all emotional and overbearing. He had to keep it together. If didn’t matter if Dean was delirious in the other room… it didn’t matter if Gloria was suffering from severe exhaustion and paranoia….it didn’t matter that Sam was bleeding profusely. What mattered was Bobby keeping his head on straight; that was all that mattered. Without that, Dean would be taken again, Gloria would harm someone else, and Sam would bleed to death.

“Bobby...,” Sam muttered through clenched teeth, his breathing ragged from the pain, breaking into Bobby’s thoughts. “How bad?”

“Shut up for a second,” Bobby barked, trying to stave off the panic that was threatening to set in. Dean was well protected for the moment, far better protected than them. Bobby used the kitchen knife to cut away the bloody clothing, trying to find the bullet wound in the mess that was Sam’s shoulder. He could see splinters of wood in the wound, blown off the door and dragged in by the bullet no doubt. 

“Go find Dean….,” Sam murmured, his eyes filled with pain. “…’M…okay….”

“Like hell you are,” Bobby spat as he surveyed the ragged bullet wound. Thunder cracked overhead, drowning out Sam’s response. Bobby wadded up his shirt before pressing it against the oozing hole in Sam’s shoulder. Sam hissed at the pressure, lurching away from Bobby’s touch. 

“Stop Sam, I need you to hold this while I check your back,” Bobby said as he pulled Sam away from the wall. Sam cried out at the movement, his body overwhelmed by the pain and blood loss. Bobby used his hand to feel through the slick blood that coated Sam’s shoulder and back. Bobby’s stress went through the roof when he couldn’t find an exit wound. 

“Dammit! It’s still in there,” Bobby explained. “You Winchesters and your luck…”

“Not feeling lucky…bout now,” Sam slurred, his voice tight with pain. 

Bobby glanced up at Sam, his eyes were clenched shut and his breathing was ragged. “I can get it out, Sam. Let’s just hope to God it didn’t ricochet in there to badly…Probably shredded the muscle…Have to dig the bullet out to start with. See what we can do after that. ”

“No supplies Bobby,” Sam slurred, his bright eyes sliding open. “….We left them…hotel…”

Bobby frowned at Sam’s words. “Balls! Well, we’re going to have to get you out of here, now.”

Sam thrashed his head from side to side. “Dean…get Dean….”

Bobby glanced back at the door before calling out, “Gloria, this is Bobby Singer. I’ve got Sam Winchester out here with me, he’s been shot…We’re here to get Dean… Open the door.”

He heard movement in the room before he heard her voice, angry and fearful. “Try the door again and I’ll shoot.”

Bobby groaned silently. “Gloria, it’s us. Sam’s wounded and I need to get him out of here. I’m going to need some help out here. Open up!”

“How do I know….how do I know you’re really him?”

“Gloria…did you get any sleep,” Bobby asked. Silence filled the hallway. 

“Bobby…what’s going on…,” Sam asked from his place on the floor. 

Bobby hunkered down in front of Sam, checking him over and placing Sam’s hand over the shirt. “Press this to the wound, you know the drill. I think Gloria’s gone into survival mode…she’s exhausted from stress and sleep deprivation, and armed. Probably feeling a little hungry by now too. Never a good combination…she’s down to her last energy reserve and sticking to her orders, which in this case was to protect Dean and keep him from getting taken.”

Sam paled even further at his words. “Gotta get him, Bobby…”

“I know. And we will. She’s gonna run out of ammo eventually but I’m betting the door is barricaded, cause like a bunch of idjits we told her to do it,” Bobby exclaimed, adjusting his cap. “We’ve just got to convince her to open the door from the inside.”

“Let me try,” Sam said with a groan. “Dean! Listen to me, Dean! It’s Sam, I’m here, man.”

In the room, Dean shifted toward the sound of a voice, warm and familiar. Gloria gripped the Beretta, down to her last bullet. She glanced from Dean to the door, the sound of the man in the hallway familiar to her own ears as well, only this time it was laced with pain. She shook her head, she knew of creatures that could change their voice, get in your head, and mess up your reality. This was a trick, it had to be. 

“Dean! Answer me, dammit,” the voice yelled again, this time more frightened and demanding. 

Gloria jumped at the sound, her hands shaking. One bullet left…it had to count or they’d both be dead. She glanced from Dean to the door, wondering which would be the worst thing that could happen. Dean could be taken…or she could ruin their plans by killing their tribute. Maybe they’d leave then. Or maybe they’d use her as their tribute instead. She ran a hand over her tired eyes, confusion beginning to gnaw at her certainty. 

“Gloria, talk to me,” a voice said from the hallway. “Your silence is starting to worry me some. Tell me what you need in order to open this door.”

Gloria gripped her Beretta, her hand sweating slightly. “I need to know…I need to know if it’s really you…How do I know? Everyone wants Dean… I have to protect him! Sam asked me to protect him…”

Bobby leaned against the wall, frowning as he listened to her words, his eyes straying to Sam. The kid needed help; he really needed a trip to an operating room and the sooner the better. His coloring was off; sweat beading across his skin. Bobby shook his head and turned his thoughts back to Gloria. He had to get that door open. The storm was only going to hide the sound of gunshots and fighting for so long, and then the military police were bound to get involved. Bobby had to end this now. 

“Gloria, I know you’re tired. But I need you to focus…Look at the clock; it’s been long enough that we’re here. You know we discussed the length of the drive. We finally made it. I know Sam asked you to protect Dean and dammit if you haven’t done one hell of a job. It’s time for you to stand down, let us take over,” Bobby explained, his voice authoritative yet soothing. “Let me in. Sam’s out here bleeding and I need to make sure you and Dean are alright so I can take care of Sam.”

No noise came from the room. 

Sam pulled himself from the floor, crying out faintly as he did. “Dean, listen to me! You need to tell Gloria to let us in!”

Some part of Sam remembered that Dean wasn’t able to understand him, wasn’t able to grasp what was going on around him. But he needed to heard Dean’s voice, he needed to know his brother was still alive. 

“DEAN!”

Gloria jumped at the volume of the voice, her heart beating in her ears. Thunder cracked overhead while lightning flashed through the window, the shadows making her shudder. 

Dean’s head swiveled towards the voice, his white eyes flicking this way and that. A soft noise rose from his throat, his lips silently forming a word. Gloria glanced fearfully at the door before easing closer to Dean. She kneeled close and listened. 

“Sammy…” Dean murmured, his lips dry and cracked from the heat that threatened to engulf him. He reached toward the door before his hand dropped back onto the bed, his body far too exhausted and malnourished to follow his command. 

Gloria watched as Dean’s eyes rolled back in his head as he fell limp on the bed. She hesitated once more. Dean’s life was in her hands. If she chose to open the door, it might not be Sam and Bobby that came in. It could be more of those things and Sam and Bobby had asked her to keep Dean safe. She rubbed her head, tired and worried. Her hand trembled slightly, gripping the gun tightly. She had to choose…

“Gloria,” the voice said again. “It’s Bobby Singer. I’m gonna ask you again, did you get any sleep since we last spoke on the phone?”

Gloria moved closer to Dean and ignored the voice. 

“Humor me,” the voice said again. “Talk to me.”

Gloria hesitated, certain that speaking to a figment of her addled imagination was a bad idea. “No, I couldn’t sleep. They want Dean and I have to keep him safe.”

“And you’re doing a bang up job of it too,” Bobby chuckled from the hallway, trying to keep his voice light and trusting. He kneeled down next to Sam and whispered, “We need to get you to a hospital, Sam. We can come back for Dean.”

Sam opened his eyes, fear and anger and pain blazing brightly. “Get Dean. I’m not leaving here without him. So you either get him out soon or you’ve got to patch me up here.”

Bobby shook his head in frustration. “Hard headed fool and an idjit to boot. Listen Sam, the only way to get through to someone paranoid is to find common ground. That’s not a quick thing to do…and you need that bullet dug out of your shoulder now.”

Sam suddenly reached out and grabbed Bobby’s shirt, his whole body burning with pain. He pulled Bobby close, his forehead beading with sweat at the effort. “Not without Dean…”

Bobby sighed deeply before nodding. Bobby turned back to the door and thought back to what he knew about Gloria. Hunting was their only common ground….That and Dean. 

“He’s stubborn isn’t he,” Bobby called out. “Dean’s always been hard headed and determined. Same thing your daddy told me about you…”

Gloria frowned at the voice talking about her dad. “How did you know my dad?”

“We hunted together once, a long time ago,” Bobby called through the door. 

“He never mentioned a Bobby Singer,” Gloria called out. “You’re lying.”

Bobby hung his head and sighed in frustration before speaking again. “He told your mom he was going on a training exercise because she didn’t like him hunting. Me and Marty had tracked down a revenant, your dad knew the area and offered to help us out. He came home with a broken arm and a black eye…do you remember that?”

Gloria sat on the edge of the bed. She did remember that, her mom and dad had fought after he had come home; the reason was obvious now. 

“Gloria?”

“I remember,” Gloria called out, still uncertain of the origin of the voice, but her hands stopped trembling, a wide yawn cracking her jaw. 

“Dean has always been like your dad in that way, you ask him to help out on a hunt and he jumps right in. Usually ends up hurt,” Bobby called out. “He’s got the scars to prove it. There’s one right behind his knee that I put there myself, just a few weeks ago when all this started to happen to him. I wasn’t sure it was really him, but I had to know. I used a silver blade to cut him while he was unconscious and laying in a hospital bed…I’ve seen more of the Winchester blood than anyone else, I think…How is he doing in there?”

Gloria shifted on the edge of the bed. Dean lay limp on the bed, his breathing shallow. He looked awful. She pulled the blanket down, rolling him over onto his side. Curiosity peaking, she pulled her flashlight from her pocket and looked behind his knee. She ran a finger along the red mark, such an odd place for an injury. Her eyes blurred almost painfully as her headache increased. She needed sleep. And food. But mostly sleep. She couldn’t keep upright much longer and damned if the voice wasn’t soothing and disarming. 

Cautiously, she moved to the door and pushed the dresser to the side, praying this wasn’t the wrong move.


	15. Dr. Singer on Call

Bobby shifted in front of Sam as he heard movement inside the bedroom, sighing in relief at the unmistakable sound of furniture scraping along the floorboards. He was surprised Gloria had given in so soon, but as long as she was willing to give over her gun he’d be happy about meeting her face to face. Bobby listened as the door unlocked, the doorknob squeaking slightly as it turned. He froze where he was, his eyes narrowing as he tried to see inside the dimly lit room. 

Bloodshot eyes peered down out at him, Gloria’s exhaustion evident. Bobby took half a step back, his hands held out in front of him, trying to lure her further out of the room. He watched Gloria’s fear filled eyes flick to Sam and then back to him. 

“It’s alright Gloria,” Bobby murmured softly, raising his hand toward her slowly. “Come on out.” 

Bobby waited patiently as Gloria looked him up and down before turning her gaze to Sam. He knew he couldn’t rush it, if he startled her they’d be right back where they started; with a door and a bullet between them. He wasn’t sure what he’d do with her once she came out of the room, but he knew that looking after a paranoid, sleep deprived woman who had been Army trained would be impossible to watch as he patched up Sam. He needed her safe and out of the way…and asleep, most likely. 

Gloria eased the door open and motioned behind her. “He’s in here.”

Bobby slowly moved into the doorway, pushing the door farther open before surveying the room; he could see Dean sprawled on the bed across the room. He gave himself half a second to look at Dean before he turned his attention back to Gloria, aware of the Beretta she was still clutching tightly in her hand. 

“Give me the gun,” he said firmly. “I need to help Dean, Sam, and you…but I can’t until you give me that gun.”

Gloria took a step back, bumping into the wall behind her; shaking her head from side to side. “No…I can’t…”

“I know you’re scared, but I’m not going to let anything happen to you,” Bobby stated. “Besides, your hands are shaking. You’re not really the best one to be armed right now and the part of you that is still looking out for you and Dean knows that. Give it to me.”

Gloria slid down the wall into a sitting position before sighing deeply, her heart beating loudly in her chest. She knew he was right; you never let your partner stand watch when they weren’t at the top of their game. Her dad and the Army had taught her that. 

Her eyes met Bobby’s as she turned the gun in her hand and held it out, her hand gripping the barrel; a sure sign of good faith and standing down. Bobby grimaced as he took it and checked the safety. 

Gloria smiled faintly at him before mumbling, “Take good care of him.”

Bobby didn’t reply as he landed a sharp blow across her jaw, Gloria instantly sliding down the wall onto the floor, unconscious. “I will,” he mumbled as he looked down at her apologetically. He hated what he had done, but it was for the best. He didn’t have the time to properly address her needs, she’d have to wait. Sam, followed by Dean, were the priority right now. 

Bobby grabbed Gloria’s arms and dragged her into the room. He glanced out the door at Sam, his own face lined with worry. Sam wasn’t looking to alert and Bobby knew he was pushing his luck by not dragging Sam off to a hospital right then. Sam’s eyes were glued to the doorway, a surprised look on his face. 

“I’ve never known you to hit a woman before,” Sam slurred through the pain. 

“Never had much need to,” Bobby snapped. “But we can’t take the time to talk her down from what she’s going through right now. She needs sleep and for that she’d have to be trusting enough to close her eyes around us. I did what I had to….She can sleep it off while we get something done about your shoulder.”

“What about Dean,” Sam called out, his grip on the shirt failing as it became slicker with his own blood. It didn’t matter that Gloria had shot him, before he’d let Bobby come anywhere near him he wanted to know Dean was still in the cabin, still safe. 

“Checking on him now, you stay put or I’ll break your legs,” Bobby snapped. “Don’t need you injuring yourself any more than you already are.”

Bobby moved across the room towards Dean. He pushed down his fear, fear that Dean wasn’t moving, fear that maybe Gloria had put a bullet in him before letting anything take him, fear that they were too late. 

He stepped beside the bed and laid a hand over Dean’s heart, a tell tail rhythm forming under his fingertips. Bobby stood there, his hand over Dean’s heart, basking in the knowledge that Dean was finally right within reach. It had been to many days of not knowing where or how he was. 

“Is he alive,” Sam called out, panic overtaking him as silence filled the cabin. “Bobby!”

Sam’s voice snapped Bobby out of his thoughts. “He’s alive, Sam. Give me a minute to look him over and then get ready for me to yank that bullet out of your shoulder.”

Bobby gently rolled Dean’s face toward him, cursing under his breath as he stared at the large hand print shaped bruise that spanned his face. Dean didn’t move or respond to Bobby’s touch or voice. He was still fevered to the touch, his skin dry and hot. Bobby frowned and pulled the sheets loose that were wrapped around him. Damp bandages were wrapped around his wrists, his palms still bloody from his own fingernails digging into them. Bruises laced around his arms and legs, a large bruise in the center of his chest. Bobby prodded the bruises, watching Dean for any sign of pain. Finding none, he continued on. Rolling Dean onto his side, Bobby pulled the gauze loose from his lower back and stared the burned area. The remains of a blister covered the area. Bobby squinted at the mark, looking for any trace of the mark Gloria had described. 

“How is he,” Sam called out. He couldn’t sit on the floor, bleeding or not, and not see for himself how Dean was doing. He slowly rolled onto his knees and fought back the wave of pain and nausea that rolled over him. He bit the inside of his cheek as he used the doorframe to pull himself onto his feet. 

“Are you an idjit or just plain stupid,” Bobby snapped as he rushed to Sam. He grabbed Sam’s good arm and held him tightly as Sam swayed on his feet. 

“Want to see Dean,” Sam slurred as he nodded toward Dean’s lax form. 

“He’s right here,” Bobby exclaimed softly as he helped Sam face the bed. He watched Sam stare at Dean, the slight glisten of unshed tears filling his eyes. Bobby looked away and sighed. He didn’t have time for Sam to get all emotional; they needed to address his bleeding shoulder so Bobby could figure out what was going on with Dean. 

“How…,” Sam began to ask as a wave of dizziness hit him. 

“Let’s get a move on,” Bobby stated firmly, motioning towards the hallway. He knew Sam was on his way to unconsciousness and if Sam could move under his own steam to the kitchen, Bobby would have a heck of an easier time. “We’ve seen him worse, but he’s not looking that peachy. Let’s get you patched up, alright?”

Sam nodded slowly. He wanted to see Dean, to reach out and touch him for himself, but it sounded like Bobby had other plans for him. 

“Let’s head to the kitchen,” Bobby said as he helped Sam toward the door. “We’ll probably find what we need in there.”

“What about Dean...,” Sam slurred. “He’ll get…”

“I’ll take care of it,” Bobby stated as he leaned Sam against the doorframe. “Don’t let go.”

He turned back into the bedroom and grabbed Gloria’s arms and dragged her onto the bed next to Dean. They looked like quite the pair, side by side; bruised and unconscious. He didn’t hesitate as he pulled the bottle from his pocket and shook two of the sleeping pills into his hand. He had brought them along for Sam, but it looked as though Gloria would be the one in need; he wanted to know that she’d stay asleep for a while and not come looking if Sam started making any noise when Bobby started digging in his shoulder. He slipped the tablets into her mouth, sighing in relief when she swallowed them and rolled toward Dean. Bobby grabbed the handcuffs from the table and slipped them in place, firmly affixing Dean to Gloria. After tucking a blanket around the two of them, he headed for Sam. 

“Ready for this,” Bobby asked as he directed Sam down the hallway. Rain continued to pound on the roof as thunder rolled in the distance. It was as miserable outside as it was inside the small cabin. 

“Not really…,” Sam muttered honestly as he stumbled along with Bobby up the narrow hallway. 

Bobby grunted and motioned toward the kitchen table. “Best light will be with you on the table,” he stated. “Not the most comfortable place…think you can handle it?”

Sam rolled his eyes, frowning when the motion made his head swim. “I’ll take a hard table and a good light over you digging a bullet out with nothing but a crappy flashlight…”

“Wise ass,” Bobby snapped as he helped Sam onto the table. Sam’s feet hung off the table and his head smacked the table as he tried position himself on the narrow table. “Let me grab you a pillow at least.”

Sam lay on the table, staring into the bright overhead light, as his head swan from the blood loss and pain. He jumped as Bobby suddenly appeared and placed a hand on his forehead. “Balls! Not you too.”

Sam wrinkled his forehead in confusion. “Me too?”

“Fevered. You’re fevered, like Dean. Probably your shoulder already getting infected…”

Sam nodded slowly; he remembered Gloria saying Dean had a fever, a bad one. “Dean needs antibiotics…”

“Hate to break it to you, kid, but he’s not the only one,” Bobby said as he rummaged through the kitchen for supplies. “We’re going to have to get our hands on some supplies; Marty should be able to help us out.”

Bobby dumped out the few bags that littered the kitchen, sighing at the slim selection. “Be right back, don’t move a muscle off that table,” Bobby mumbled as he picked up Gloria’s keys from the counter. 

He slipped out the door and glanced out through the rain. The other cabins seemed dark and vacant. He headed for Gloria’s car and popped open the trunk. Bobby grabbed the small first aid kit, knowing that Silas Johnson had trained his daughter well. Bobby checked the rest of the car before scouring the Impala for any stray items that may have been left behind in their hurry to empty the car out for base inspection. He sighed in relief when he found a small first aid box under the false bottom in the Impala’s trunk. He opened it and spotted the small tweezers and stitch kit; it would be enough if he took his time and used it sparingly. 

He traipsed back through the rain, pausing on the porch before pulling his phone out. 

The phone rang three times before Marty answered the phone. “Bobby?”

“Yeah, you idjit, who’d you expect? Look, we’ve got ourselves a situation here and you’re just about the only person in the area I know,” Bobby explained. “I need you to drop whatever case you’re working on…”

“What’s the problem Bobby,” Marty asked, the sound of rustling paper pausing. 

“Well, we got on the base just fine, found Gloria Johnson and Dean…but we’ve run into a few problems, starting with a Beretta and ending with an understocked first aid kit,” Bobby explained. 

Bobby could hear the change in Marty’s voice. “How bad is it?”

Bobby adjusted his cap as he clutched the phone. “Pretty damn bad. I think the bullet struck the bone… I haven’t told Sam yet.”

“Any chance you can wait until I get there to help,” Marty asked. He and Bobby had worked together in the past; they had patched up more than one hunter and buried a few as well. They both knew pulling a bullet from the bone wasn’t easy. Listening to the begging alone could drive someone into overmedicating the man under the knife. 

“I don’t think we can…We need IV antibiotics and fluids, a few sets of tubing and maybe some syringes, lots of saline solution, gauze, burn cream, as well as just about anything else you can get your hands on.”

Marty whistled low into the phone. “Give me about an hour and a half to put everything together and get there. How do I get on base to find you?”

Bobby rattled off a few more items before giving Marty instructions for the inspection and a vague set of directions to the cabin before heading back inside. Bobby quietly latched the door behind him. With a worried glance at Sam, he set about opening up the first aid kits, adding the new supplies to the pile that Gloria had left in the kitchen. He grimaced as he realized the one thing they needed most and didn’t have; a scalpel.   
He moved over to Sam, wondering if they could wait it out until Marty got there. Sam continued to stare into the too bright light that hung over him, his face tight with pain. He didn’t move when Bobby stepped closer and lifted the bloody shirt from overtop of the wound. Blood continued to leech out of the mangled flesh, making Bobby shake his head. He moved back to the kitchen and rechecked all of the drawers, hoping to find something he had missed. He had a knife sharpener, but the only knife in the kitchen was fairly large. He had never wanted a paring knife so badly. 

“We don’t have a scalpel,” Bobby stated, pointedly not looking at Sam as he washed his hands. “And I don’t think we can wait for Marty to get here with the supplies…So I’ll make the offer once more….do you want to head for a hospital? It might be best, Sam. I can look after Dean while you’re in—“

“No.”

“Sam?”

He lay silent for a minute, so long that Bobby moved closer to check on him. “Sam? You with me?”

“I’m not leaving Dean,” Sam ground out angrily, his face ashen. “If we can’t wait…let’s just get it over with, Bobby. I’ve seen you work without a scalpel before…”

Bobby moved over Sam, catching his eye and holding it as he spoke. “The shoulder is vascular, Sam. You know that. It’s amazing you’ve not bled out already. Aside from the vascular system, you’ve got nerves, tendons and muscle in there. You don’t need me digging around in there with a goddamn grapefruit spoon, you need a surgeon.”

Sam frowned, his face pale. “You’re the best we’ve got right now. I trust you, Bobby.”

Bobby sighed angrily and shook his head. “Idjit,” he grumbled as he grabbed the knife sharpener from the kitchen drawer and started to work the knife over it, doing his best to ignore the look of pain and fear on Sam’s face. He knew it was mean to scare the kid but he needed Sam to understand that even by hunting standards, this was going to be brutal. He wanted to give Sam time to rethink his choice. 

Sam listened as Bobby continued to sharpen the blade in his hand, the rasping sound sending shivers down his spine. He hated this part. The prep was worse than usual, fear building in his chest. Sam squinted up at the blaring light, wanting Bobby to just give him the same treatment he had given Gloria, a strong right cross and the easy way out. He listened as Bobby washed down the knife and tweezers before stepping near his shoulder, cutting into his line of sight. He squinted up at Bobby, his vision blurring and fading around the edges. 

“You ready for this?”

Sam’s hands trembled as Bobby removed the blood soaked shirt from his shoulder, sweat instantly beading over his forehead. “…Never wished more for whiskey...”

“Me neither, kid.”

Sam hissed in pain as the cool air hit the open tissue, sending painful shivers though him.

Bobby grunted as he stared at the oozing hole in Sam’s shoulder. “You need something for the pain?”

“Haven’t got anything…do we,” Sam asked hopefully. 

Bobby shrugged and glanced down at Sam. “I got a belt you can bite on…you decide you need it, you let me know… Once I get to digging in there, we’re at it until the bullet is out…”

Sam nodded slowly, his vision swimming once more. “Just get it done, Bobby. Don’t have all day….”

Bobby picked up the small tweezers and began the tedious job of pulling splinters from the mangled flesh. His hands were steady, as they had been through the years of patching up the Winchesters, of coaxing engines to turn over for him, and of carrying survivors to safety. 

Several minutes passed, only Sam’s hitched breathing and the storm disturbing the silence. “Done yet, Bobby?”

“You got a hot date waiting on you Sam,” Bobby asked derisively as he picked up the knife and slowly slid the tip into the gaping hole, testing slightly as he felt through the damage. Sam howled and bucked against the table as Bobby nudged the tip of the bullet, his breathing dissolving into a series of short bursts. 

Bobby’s jaw tightened as he felt the placement. “It’s lodged in the bone.”

Sam’s eyes flew open in panic. “Bobby…wait….”

“I’m gonna have to pry it out,” Bobby stated firmly as he set the tweezers down. He knew what was coming; he had heard it before from more than one hunter. He had steeled himself against pleading and begging years ago, but hearing the boys do it never got any easier. 

“Bobby…,” Sam pleaded, his hands gripping into fists. “Please…”

Bobby moved and stood over Sam, their faces inches apart. “Sam, we can’t wait…I said we had to keep going…It can’t wait any longer…It’ll go septic and we’re already risking a lot by not going to the hospital. If you’d rather go to the hospital for this, I’ll have us there in fifteen minutes.”

Sam shook his head. “I’m staying here with Dean.”

Sam gritted his teeth as Bobby positioned the knife over his wound. “I can pry it loose with the knife; first I’m going to have to open it up a little more to see what direction to best come at it from.”

Bobby kept his eyes on the knife, using a clean kitchen towel to wipe blood out of the way as it rose from the jagged hole in Sam’s shoulder. His hands paused as tremors ran through Sam, his body shaking uncontrollably as he closed his eyes, pain saturating every nerve in his body. 

“Sam, how you doing,” Bobby asked softly, the knife poised over the wound.

Sam nodded curtly, his lips pursed as he breathed raggedly. “I’m…fine…okay.”

“You’re shaking like a leaf,” Bobby stated. “You gotta hold still.”

“……I’m trying, Bobby,” Sam rasped out. “Hurts like hell…and the thought of you doing that again…”

Bobby set the knife down. “Take a breather, I’ll be right back.”

He moved quickly as he headed for the bedroom. He glanced at Dean and Gloria, both still motionless on the bed, before grabbing a discarded bed sheet from the floor and heading back to Sam. His eyes were closed as he lay on the table, the fluorescent light burning brightly overhead. 

Without a word, Bobby draped the sheet over Sam’s torso and legs, grabbing the corners and tying them to the table legs. Sam’s eyes flew open as he felt the sheet tighten over his chest, pinning him to the table. Only his head remained out from under the sheet. 

“Bobby,” Sam asked fearfully. 

Bobby didn’t say anything as he ripped the sheet, revealing Sam’s shoulder. Other than his exposed shoulder he was complete pinned to the table, unable to move. He took a shaky breath and looked for Bobby above him as a sense of claustrophobia overtook him. 

“Bobby,” Sam repeated, trying to shift against sheet. 

“Can’t have you moving around; your shoulder is a mess and the more you move…the worse it’s gonna get,” Bobby explained. “Sam, I’m not stopping again. It’s this until you pass out, sooner the better if you can manage it.”

“Bobby…can’t you just…,” Sam murmured, his eyes begging Bobby to give him what he wanted. 

Bobby shook his head apologetically. “Don’t think I haven’t thought of that already, Sam…but you just had one hell of a bad concussion. I can’t put you down like that, not this soon.” 

Sam nodded his understanding, trying to quell the sudden claustrophobia of being tied to the narrow table while Bobby cut into his shoulder, knowing he’d have to endure to the end without any sort of relief. 

Without another word, Bobby carefully cut into the flesh, widening the wound. He wiped the blood out of the way and maneuvered the flashlight over the wound, peering into the mess. He could see the small offending piece of metal and a flash of white bone. 

“I can see it,” Bobby said, narrating his movements. He slowly slid the tip of the knife along the edge of the mangled bullet, maneuvering the tip of the knife between the bone and the metal. He rocked the blade slightly testing its position, pulling a strangled cry from Sam. 

“Bobby….stop…please…”

Bobby ignored Sam’s cry. He knew that the pain would only end when the job was finished. He slid the tweezers into the wound and gripped the mangled metal. He gripped Sam’s shoulder to hold it down as he pulled the bullet. A muffled cry came from deep within Sam, the sound making Bobby glance up at Sam’s face. His face was covered in sweat and tears, a small bit of blood on his lips from having bitten them. 

“Nearly there, Sam, just hang on,” Bobby said reassuringly as he continued to pull with the tweezers. He wished he had needle nose pliers for a job like this, but the tweezers would have to do. Blood rushed out of the wound, Bobby wondering just how much Sam had already lost. 

Tears ran down Sam’s face, his panic at being unable to move away from the pain rising in his chest, his pounding heart making it hard to hear Bobby’s words. His shoulder was on fire as the sensation of Bobby pulling his arm off overwhelmed him. 

Bobby sighed in relief as he finally felt the bullet let loose from the bone. “Got it, boy. Take a breather.”

“…Bobby….,” Sam slurred, bright spots filling his vision. His vision swam as his lightheadedness increased. He felt his stomach flip flop and his heart skip a beat. He knew this feeling. It wasn’t pleasant but he knew it well. 

Bobby was busy inspecting the bullet; frowning when he realized it wasn’t all there. Somewhere in Sam’s shoulder, another piece was going to have to be found and removed. Hearing the change in Sam’s voice, Bobby turned his attention from the mangled bullet to Sam. He frowned at Sam’s pale, slightly gray color. He could see the kid starting to stare into nothingness, a sure sign that he was losing his grip on consciousness. “Sam, talk to me.”

“…Spots…,” Sam mumbled, closing his eyes as the spots danced in front of his face, making him dizzy. 

Bobby knew Sam was teetering on the edge of consciousness. “Go on, Sam. This isn’t over yet…better if you just go on and pass out…”

“...Check on Dean….”

Bobby chuckled warmly at Sam’s words as the young man passed out as his brother’s name slipped from his lips. After checking that the bleeding had slowed, Bobby grabbed a cup of warm, soapy water from the sink and poured it into the wound, irrigating it as best he could without better supplies. He scrubbed down his hands again before picking the tweezers and knife up again. 

He spent the next hour carefully dissecting Sam’s shoulder, removing splinters and several small bone shards as well as the other chunk of bullet from the wound. He took a minute to scrub the dried blood from his hands before finally picking up the sterile stitch kit. He had sewn more Winchester flesh in his life than he wanted to remember. He frowned thoughtfully as he did his best to reassemble Sam’s muscle and tissue, making carefully stitches as he closed Sam up from the inside out, thankful for having stocked the boy’s first aid kit with dissolving stitches last time they had stopped through. He hadn’t thought they would have gotten used so quickly but he was grateful none the less. He knew Sam would have permanent nerve damage, but even with a hospital and surgeon it would have been unavoidable. 

Sometimes, Winchester luck was just that way. 

Bobby finished washing the blood from his hands, the knife and tweezers boiling in a pot on the stove. He gathered the small packet of antibiotic cream and remaining gauze before turning back to Sam. He frowned as he stared at Sam’s shoulder. The tissue was red and inflamed; he ran a finger around the wound and felt the unusual warmth in the skin, a sure sign of infection setting in. 

“Dammit, Sam,” he muttered as he smeared the ointment over the black stitches and inflamed tissue. “You’re as bad as Dean.”

He wrung out a kitchen towel and began the tedious job of wiping the dried blood and sweat from Sam’s torso and neck. Satisfied that Sam was as cleaned up as possible, Bobby re-tied the sheet over Sam, wanting to ensure that when Sam woke he wouldn’t try to leave the table on his own. Bobby had seen the boys rip out plenty of stitches in their hastiness to jump up and check on each other and Bobby was in no mood to attempt to reassemble Sam’s shoulder again. 

Bobby wandered the cabin restlessly, standing guard over the group of injured and sick. He chuckled when he stepped into the bedroom to check on Gloria and Dean and found that Dean had rolled toward her, his head tucked low and his body curled as small as he could make himself. Gloria had slung an arm over him, her own body curved protectively around him. Dean usually didn’t allow himself that sort of physical comfort and it was almost comical, yet worrisome, to Bobby. Regardless of trying to kill her just the day before, Dean seemed to have finally relaxed in the presence of his substitute protector. 

Bobby laid a hand on Dean’s forehead, remembering how Dean would usually dodge the familiar move or make an excuse to head in the opposite direction from anyone’s ministrations toward his own good health. Dean didn’t move under his hand; not even murmuring at his touch. Bobby grunted unhappily as he felt the heat wave coming off the young man. He knew that Dean mostly like had some sort of infection, but the source wasn’t evident. He’d have to search him over once he could be un-cuffed from Gloria; something had been missed. Bobby was laying a wet sheet over Dean when he heard a the unmistakable sound of a car. 

A loud knock at the door pulled Bobby away from Dean. He glanced at the clock, hoping it was Marty outside. If it was the military police…they’d be split up and hauled off to the clink until the base officials sorted them out. He glanced back at Sam’s form on the table, wondering how much longer he’d be out for as he pulled the front door open and smiled in relief. 

“About time,” he said to Marty, grabbing one of the large duffel bags from his hands. 

Marty shook his head and walked past Bobby. “That inspection was something,” he replied. “They didn’t look in the bags, not that a carload of medical supplies is a crime.”

“These narcs would be without names on the bottles,” Bobby said as he pulled a small plastic bottle out of the bag, the liquid inside making him smile in relief. “You get everything on the list?”

“And more, but it looks like you started the party without me,” Marty said as he moved closer to Sam.

“Couldn’t wait,” Bobby said almost apologetically. 

Marty looked around the small kitchen counter, surveying the supplies that littered the surface. “I thought you didn’t have a scalpel…”

“I didn’t.”

“What the hell did you use,” Marty asked, his curiosity getting the better of him. He had seen some rather gruesome home medicine in the past and he was surprised Bobby would have given in to its use, especially when it came to the Winchester brothers. 

“Kitchen knife…all I could find,” Bobby said gruffly. 

Marty moved to Sam, peeling the gauze out of the way as he angled the light and scrutinized Bobby’s work. “How long has he been out for?”

“Since about the time I got the first chunk of bullet pulled loose…nearly two hours, but he’s been pretty worn out lately, and now with the blood loss…not really sure how much waiting to do before I start to worry,” Bobby admitted. 

Marty whistled as he dug a box of syringes out of the bag. “Let’s get this job done then, before he wakes up. Who else is down for the count? Everybody?”

“Each and every one of them,” Bobby exclaimed as he filled a syringe from a small bottle Marty tossed him. He handed the syringe off to Marty as he picked up a second bottle and filled another syringe. “Let’s get a head start in the antibiotics.”

Without a word, Marty plunged the needle into Sam’s shoulder, pushing the antibiotics into the inflamed flesh. He traded syringes with Bobby and injected the morphine next. “Hit bone, huh?”

“Yep,” Bobby said as he fiddled with the IV tubing, tossing the central line kit to Marty as he added the antibiotic solution to the bag of saline. “These boys have the worst luck I’ve ever seen.”

Wordlessly, Marty affixed the central IV line to the back of Sam’s hand before grabbing the tubing from Bobby’s outstretched hand. Once the liquid was dripping at a good rate, Bobby hung the bag from the light fixture overhead. 

“We could move him to the couch,” Marty offered. “That table has got to be as hard as a rock.”

“That kind of jostling and pain might bring him out of it; I’d rather wait until the morphine has kicked in. I say we wait,” Bobby explained as he motioned for Marty to follow him down the hallway. “Let’s get Dean out here and see what we’re in for. He’s the worst of the two, aside from Sam’s bullet wound.”

As they stepped into the room, Marty glanced at Gloria. “Looks like her mom. Hopefully, not quite as scary when she’s angry though…”

“She looked pretty scary holding that Beretta earlier…scary and determined,” Bobby said as he pulled the sheet away from Dean. “Better hold him tight, he’s been fighting everyone.”

“Bobby, the kid’s not conscious.”

“Never stopped him before,” Bobby chuckled. “You do what you want but don’t complain to me if he hits you.”

Moving with caution, Marty held Dean’s wrists firmly in his large hands as Bobby removed the handcuffs, each watching for any sign that he was waking up. Bobby could tell that Dean was far from well, but the last few calls from Gloria had made him leery of Dean’s sudden wakefulness and violence. Marty and Bobby exchanged a solemn glance before Marty picked Dean up and walked out of the room with him. 

Bobby stayed behind and rolled Gloria over, his eyes narrowing in concentration as he looked her over. A puffy bruise marred her face; Bobby’s feelings of guilt returning over his decision to hit her. He followed the blood stains that marked her clothing, making sure the blood on her clothing wasn’t her own. He placed the blankets back over her as she moved closer to the warm spot Dean had left behind. “We’ve got him from here,” Bobby said softly. “Just sleep it off.”

Bobby walked to the small couch where Marty was already checking Dean over. “He’s pretty damn lightweight. And got enough bruises here to cause some worry,” Marty muttered. “He have all these last you saw him?”

“It’s been awhile since I’ve seen him, Marty. Been awhile since anyone’s seen him,” Bobby answered as he grabbed a bottle of saline solution. “I can account for a lot of them, particularly the ones where he was restrained in our attempts to keep him from vanishing. I’m going to guess some of them might be from fighting whatever was after him.”

Bobby watched as Marty probed the mass of bruises that wrapped around Dean’s torso. “Might have a cracked rib or three,” Marty muttered with a sigh. “Nothing we can do about those. Looks like his wrists are torn up as well. Have you un-wrapped these yet?” 

“Nope. Gloria wrapped them. She told me he was fighting the restraints,” Bobby explained as Marty unwound the gauze. “We had used handcuffs but those bruises look like they’re from rope or vines, maybe.”

Marty grunted his agreement as he looked up at Bobby. “Where you want to start on this mess?”

They stood side by side and looked down at the eldest Winchester, each surveying the damage. 

“Might as well start at the top and work our way down,” Bobby said as he pulled another syringe out of the box. “We might get lucky and find another clue on him…You bring what I asked you to?”

Marty pulled a small plastic bottle from his pocket and silently handed it to Bobby. “He’s not even moving, Bobby. You really think it’s necessary?”

“I’m hope it’s not,” Bobby replied with a grimace as he loaded the small syringe and set it on the table next to the narrow couch. “But Dean—he’s a handful when he’s sick, worse now that he can’t tell what’s real and what’s not. It’s just in case he gets out of hand. Can’t have him making things worse.”

Bobby slowly began his search, covering every inch of Dean. Dean didn’t move as Bobby moved him this way and that, not even a sound passing his lips much less his typical ‘touch me and I’ll kill you’ routine. Bobby slid open one of Dean’s eyelids and flinched at the milky white coloring that enveloped his usually green eyes. He shook his head, wondering the cause of his eyes changing color. Silently, he mapped out the bruises before shaking his head. “Not sure we’d even be able to spot another one of those marks on him with this amount of bruising. I can’t find any major wound that would be causing his fever either.”

“Speaking of which,” Marty said as he handed Bobby a thermometer for Dean’s ear. 

Bobby waited impatiently for the thermometer to tell him what he already knew. He had seen enough fevers to know when one was dangerously high and he knew that Dean was dehydrated by his lack of sweating. He held it up for Marty to read when it beeped. 

Marty whistled lowly. “Impressive. You want to toss him in the tub or fry an egg on his forehead?”

Bobby stared at the thermometer. “Wonder how he’s not seizing at this point…”

“Let’s not look a gift horse in the mouth,” Marty said as he gathered Dean back into his arms. “Let’s get him cooled down.”

Bobby helped maneuver Dean through the doorways and into the tub before turning the water on. He expected Dean to react to the cool water and frowned when Dean didn’t as much as twitch. He was left to hold Dean’s head above the water as Marty headed back to the couch for the IV lines. Bobby watched Dean’s face, void of any expression. He was lost in worry when Marty walked back into the room with an armload of IV tubing and supplies. 

“Any change yet,” Marty asked as he picked up Dean’s hand and wiped the back of it with an alcohol pad. He had spent years patching up hunters, fighting fevers, and brewing up home remedies for curses, hexes, and magical maladies. He adjusted the flow rate and watched the solution begin to trickle down the line. “These are broad spectrum antibiotics. Who knows, maybe it’s something simple.”

“Could be, I suppose,” Bobby said gruffly as he let Dean slide further down into the water. He draped Dean’s hand over the side of the tub, keeping the IV line out of the tub. “Would surprise me though; these boys can’t ever do anything simple.”

Marty chuckled. “They do seem to have a reputation.”

“Whatever you’ve heard, it’s twice as bad,” Bobby said with a shake of his head. 

They traded off sitting by the tub for the first thirty minutes, until the first shiver passed through Dean. Bobby and Marty slowly carried him back to the couch, rubbing him dry with the last of the kitchen towels. 

“Let’s get him cleaned up and bandage what needs bandaging,” Bobby said as he pulled the coffee table closer to the couch. “We can lay a cold sheet over him afterwards.”

The two older men moved in time, Marty handing Bobby the supplies as they were needed. Saline solution, burn cream, and gauze were handed back and forth until Dean was finally as fixed as they could make him. It had been years since Marty and Bobby had worked side by side, but when you had patching up to do, Marty was the best at getting supplies and putting them to use. Marty hung the IV bag over the couch as Bobby used a roll of gauze on Dean’s torn up wrists. 

“Sam’s not going to like the look of this,” Bobby muttered as he looked at his handiwork. 

“Can’t help it,” Marty said aloud as he walked back in with a wet bed sheet. He carefully tucked it around Dean, trying to avoid as many bandages as he could. “You gotta go where the wound is…not where the bandages won’t be seen.”

Bobby was checked on Gloria when Marty walked in with another duffel bag. He pulled a small tub of wood putty and a flat knife from the bag as well as a bottle of whiskey. “What the hell are you doing now,” Bobby asked as Marty stepped into the hallway. 

“If the military police find this cabin shot to hell, they’ll have one hell of an investigation. I did some time in prison a few years back…took some carpentry classes…a little bit of wood putty, some sanding and paint and no one will be the wiser,” Marty said with a wink. “Can’t let Silas’ daughter take any heat from this, his widow will hunt us down…She’s kinda scary for an older woman…”

“And the whiskey,” Bobby asked with a chuckle as he grabbed two glasses from kitchen counter. 

“Not sure about you, Singer, but I’m getting to old for this shit,” Marty called out. “The whiskey is for us old men.”


	16. Guess We're All Mad Here

Fort Eustis, Newport News, Virginia 

Bobby dozed in the armchair next to the couch while Marty changed the gauze on Sam’s shoulder. It was late in the evening and Marty was starting to regret not having stopped at the small grocery store on his way in. The bottle of whiskey was still half full but it wasn’t enough to go around if everyone woke up. Besides, liquid dinner wasn’t really on the menu for Sam or Dean. He glanced at the clock and shook his head. Sam should have woken up already…Gloria too…Hell, even Dean hadn’t so much as twitched on the couch where he laid. 

He grabbed a flashlight and peeled one of Sam’s eyelids back, flashing the light over his exposed eye. He frowned as Sam’s pupil slowly narrowed, and yet Sam didn’t move or wake up. He grabbed another duffel bag and upended it on the counter before grabbing the blood pressure cuff from the pile of equipment. It was automatic but it was better than nothing. 

The loud sound of Velcro being ripped apart made Bobby’s eyes slide open. He ran a tired hand over his face and adjusted his hat before asking the obvious question. 

“What the hell are you doing now, Marty?”

“Sam’s blood pressure is low,” Marty said. “And he should have woken up by now.”

“Marty, the kid lost a lot of blood today, course his blood pressure is going to be low,” Bobby said as he climbed out of the chair, intent on checking Sam’s blood pressure himself. 

“I know that,” Marty said, feigning annoyance. “He’s going to need some serious down time or a transfusion.”

“Can’t get any blood for him so it’s down time,” Bobby said with a shake of his head. “Least until that bullet wound has healed. He’s not going to want to answer any questions about that at a hospital.”

“What about Dean’s? Surely one brother has given the other blood at some point, especially with their bad luck,” Marty said as he handed Bobby the blood pressure cuff. 

Bobby tossed the cuff next to Sam on the table. “Can’t risk it. We don’t know what Dean’s been poisoned with…”

“Poisoned? I thought something was taking him…”

“Something is, but one of those same things broke in here and forced something down his throat. Gloria said that just as soon as he swallowed it Dean was back to muttering nonsense, a high fever, and just plain being off his rocker,” Bobby explained. “I’m not going to transfuse the two of them and end up with two out of control Winchesters. Maybe once Dean is back to normal…”

“Bobby Singer,” a voice suddenly asked from the doorway. “Are you…Bobby?”

Marty and Bobby both swiveled on their feet and froze at the sight of Gloria standing in the hallway. Bobby knew she was still exhausted by the way she continued to sway on her feet. He took a slow step towards her and held out his hand. “Gloria, you need to get back in that bed and get some sleep.”

She glanced fearfully at Marty before leaning to look past the two men. “Where is Dean?”

“He’s fine,” Bobby said, pointing to where Dean lay on the couch.

Gloria pushed past Bobby and headed across the room. She paused momentarily before laying a hand over Dean’s forehead. “He’s still running a fever? … Unbelievable.”

“Tends to happen that way,” Bobby said as he motioned for Marty to give them a little space. “You get any look at what was in here earlier? Any idea what is was?”

Gloria didn’t take her eyes off of Dean as she shook her head. “No. Wish I knew so I could go find it and kill it, but no; I’ve never seen one before.”

Bobby sighed deeply before motioned at Marty. “This is Marty, same man who helped me get in contact with you. He ran a carload of medical equipment out here for me.”

“The first aid kit…”

“Wasn’t enough,” Bobby said as he motioned over his shoulder at Sam. “He needed some other things, so did Dean. We’ve got antibiotics and fluids running on both of them.”

Gloria moved closer to Sam, frowning at the sight of the gauze on his shoulder. “What happened to him?”

Marty looked at Bobby, his eyes wide as he slowly shook his head side to side. Now wasn’t the time to get into hysterics over something she wasn’t remembering through the exhaustion and drug haze.

“Nothing we couldn’t handle,” Bobby said firmly. “We’ve got these two for now, you need to get some more sleep. We’ll need to talk later….”

Gloria nodded slowly, her bleary eyes settling on Sam once more. “Wake me up if you need me…,” she muttered as she walked down the hallway. Bobby followed a step behind her wobbling figure, making sure she managed to get back into the bed before she fell over. He paused at the doorway and waited. 

She watched him cautiously from her place on the bed, blankets pulled up to her chin. “Are they going to be okay?”

Bobby nodded slowly. “You will be too.”

42°26′05″N 83°59′06″W

Crowley set the folder down with a frown. The young man sitting across the table from him shifted uncomfortably. Crowley picked up his glass and swirled the amber liquid inside. “I watched Noah calculate the number of animals going onto the ark with nothing but a pointed stick on a rough dirt floor… This is deplorable. And you call yourself an accountant?”

“Crowley—“

“Sir,” Crowley said slowly, his eyebrow raised just slightly, the correction hanging in the air between them. 

The young man shifted in his chair, his face red. “Sir, these numbers are accurate. The numbers of due deals and souls collected have been tallied. The figures look good.”

“But they haven’t paid yet, now have they,” Crowley asked. He hated talking business over lunch, certainly here in his favorite restaurant, with such a lesser demon, but time wasn’t to be wasted. 

“No, sir, they haven’t,” the man replied as he laid a worn scroll on the table between them, glancing around the restaurant. “According to their original agreement with Lucifer, their tribute comes due—“

“I know when their tithe is due, I know all about the deal Azazel brokered at Lucifer's behest,” Crowley snapped angrily as he pushed the file back across the table. “Send word that I want my payment inspected in three days’ time; I want to see what all the fuss is about. Why it should take this long to cull a few hundred souls for delivery is beyond reason.”

“Sir, their tithe is considered one of the greatest payments received unto Hell,” the young man expressed. “They take their time, selecting every candidate personally; each payment of a thousand men takes seven years to assemble. It’s all here in the fine print.”

Crowley frowned over his glass once more. “Enough about the bloody tribute.”

“Shall I leave you then,” the man said as he rose from the table.

“Of course….but Gerald,” Crowley said, amusement in his voice as his eyes flashed red for a moment. “You’ll pick up my suits at the cleaners, won’t you?”

Gerald’s eyes flickered black, anger on his face as he grabbed the folders. “Of course, my King.”

Fort Eustis, Newport News, Virginia

Sam woke with a pounding headache. Panic rose in his chest as he tried to roll onto his side and found that he couldn’t move. His eyes flew open before he shut them almost immediately. He was spinning…or rather the room was. “Bobby…”

He knew the second Bobby was standing over him, his eyes burning holes into him with worry. “Sam, come on, kid. Can you open your eyes up? You’ve been out for a while.”

“I can’t move…,” Sam slurred worriedly as he fought to open his bloodshot eyes. He felt like shit warmed over and was still fevered to boot. 

“I left you tied to the table…didn’t want you trying to get up on your own,” Bobby explained. “You think you’re ready to get off this table?”

Sam slowly nodded. “Dizzy.”

“Yeah, I figured that much from the green look you’ve got,” Bobby said with a chuckle. “You’re down some blood, Sam. Gonna have to take it slow, alright?”

Bobby worked quickly to remove the sheet that still held Sam to the table. Sam allowed Bobby to swing his legs off the table while maneuvering him into a sitting position. Sam hissed in pain as the movement jostled his shoulder. 

“We’re gonna have to put that in a sling,” Bobby murmured as Sam clung to the edge of the table with his good hand. 

Sam nodded his agreement, regretting it as nausea overtook him. “Dean?”

“He’s in the tub again. Marty’s got him,” Bobby explained as Sam attempted to get his feet under him and stand from the low table. 

“I want to see him,” Sam slurred as the pain flared in his shoulder. He felt kind of fuzzy around the edges… he knew this feeling, like his head wasn’t properly screwed on right. “Morphine?”

Bobby nodded. “Had to, Sam. It’s not like you’re going to be driving anytime soon anyhow. Trust me, you need it.”

Sam stared at the IV line dangling from his hand, trying to follow Bobby’s words. “And this?”

“Just some fluids and antibiotics. We can remove it and do either pills or injections. We wanted to get you hydrated and the antibiotics moving as soon as possible. It was the easiest way,” Bobby explained as he pulled the bag free from the light fixture. “Marty will have Dean back out here in a few minutes. Come on, we’ll get you into the armchair.”

The walk was slow going, Sam holding tightly to Bobby to keep from falling over. He hated morphine, Dean too. It was wonderful when you needed it, but the price you paid was balance and a clear head. Not really the prime things to give up when you’re on a case.

Bobby wrestled Sam into the low armchair before removing the IV and tossing the jumbled mess into a pile on the table. “I’ll go check Dean and Marty. You stay put.”

He headed down the hallway and quietly walked past the bed where Gloria was sleeping to check on Dean’s progress. Marty was kneeling on the floor, holding Dean’s head out of the water. He was shivering in the warm water, his hands curled in fists. The whiteness of his eyes had begun to fade slightly, the green beginning to return. 

“How we doing in here,” Bobby asked worriedly. 

“The fever seems to have finally settled at one high temp now, rather than just going up and down,” Marty exclaimed impatiently. “If this really is due to whatever they forced him to eat, how long can it possibly last?”

Bobby stood in the doorway and stared down at Dean, considering Marty’s question. “He didn’t eat it all…Gloria managed to get him to throw most of it up…if he ingested it…wouldn’t it just be a matter of him metabolizing it?”

Marty nodded slowly. “Sounds about right, if he doesn’t die first… I’d guess from his eyes changing back that its effects are already starting to lessen. Hopefully the fever will begin to abate next. What if this isn’t even an infection…just some sort of side effect of whatever they gave him… We could stop the antibiotics for a little while. Give his liver and kidneys a chance to deal with just the poison without overloading him with antibiotics. Try to just flush out his system and see what happens.” 

“Think it’s worth a shot?”

“Might as well give it a go. Be better if we could get him awake and eating though,” Marty said as he pulled Dean from the water. He carried Dean through the house as Bobby followed behind with the last dry towel. 

Sam sat silently as Bobby and Marty dried and re-wrapped Dean. He frowned as Marty removed the plastic bag of fluids and tossed it on the table. 

“What’s wrong?”

“We’re switching him to just fluids. Gonna give him a rest from the antibiotics,” Marty explained as he grabbed another clear bag from the duffel. 

“But didn’t you just start them a few hours ago,” Sam asked worriedly. 

“Yeah, but we have a theory we want to test out,” Bobby said. “Marty’s thinking this isn’t a real infection, just some side effect from what Dean was forced to eat. Don’t worry, Sam. Marty’s been doing this for years.”

Sam silently watched as Marty rehung a clear bag over Dean, worry on his face. 

“Sam, I’ve been dealing with mysterious maladies for a few decades, as well as the usual gambit of hunting injuries. Most of the time, this kind of stuff isn’t meant to kill someone—Hell, if those things wanted him dead, he’d be dead by now—No, this kind of thing usually just makes the victim sick, maybe as a means to keep him from escaping, or just cause they’re a sick and twisted bunch,” Marty explained with a shrug.

“So you’ve seen this before,” Sam asked, hope in his voice.

“Not quite like this, but similar,” Marty said with a shake of his head. “Similar enough that I think it’s worth a shot to take away the antibiotics. You’ve gotta remember, Sam, sometimes cursed and hexed conditions just don’t mix with modern medicine…”

Sam nodded his understanding. “Has he said anything yet?”

Marty and Bobby exchanged a quick glance before Bobby spoke. “Not a peep yet. But he’ll come around, Sam. Just give him some time.”

“Bobby….,” Marty said, his voice trailing off as he picked up the garbage can in the kitchen. 

“What,” Bobby asked as he tucked another wet sheet around Dean. 

“You said Gloria made Dean throw up most of whatever they tried to force him to eat, right,” Marty asked as he dumped the trash can upside down, rummaging through the contents. 

“Yeah, what of it?”

Marty glanced up at Bobby with a smile. “If we can find the rest of it, maybe we can figure out what it is...and that could help us determine what’s taking him. Maybe it’s something so specific only a few beasties are using it. It might narrow the list down a little.”

Bobby’s face moved from curious to stern. “We need to check the bedroom. Sam, watch Dean.”

Sam watched anxiously as Marty and Bobby all but ran from the room and disappeared down the hallway. He reached out and laid a hand on Dean’s forehead, it was still warm but he was sweating again at least. He sighed in frustration of not being able to help Bobby. He wasn’t about to let Dean disappear again either, he’d handcuff Dean to his good arm for the next few weeks if necessary. 

In the bedroom, Bobby grabbed the garbage can from the bathroom while Marty quietly grabbed all of the grocery bags lingering on the dresser. They quietly exited the room, leaving Gloria to sleep off her drug induced nap. Marty began to upend the bags on the table while Bobby dumped the garbage can next to the pile. Quietly, they dug through the odd collection of bloody wash clothes, discarded gauze, and food wrappers. 

Bobby slowly and carefully opened a wadded up wash cloth and found the mostly intact pastry. The stench of bile mixed with the aromatic sweetness from the pastry and made his stomach roll. As the smell filled the room, Dean whimpered from his position on the couch and rolled away from Bobby. 

Bobby glanced from Sam to Marty before walking towards Dean, the pastry held out in front of him. They watched as Dean pressed further into the couch cushions and whimpered again. 

“Dean,” Sam asked as he laid a hand on Dean’s arm. “It’s okay, man. You’re safe. Bobby… come on, man. Don’t torture him.”

“I know, Sam. I’m not trying to scare him, just curious about how badly this thing has screwed him over.” Bobby moved away from Dean and held the washcloth out for Sam to see. “Any thoughts, Sam?”

Sam stared at the pastry. Aside from the traces of bile that clung to the washcloth, its flaky texture reminded Sam of some sort of artisan pastry. It was coated in something shiny and clear. 

“Cut it open, let’s see what’s inside,” Sam said. 

Bobby slowly cut the pastry open, Marty and Sam watching with baited breathe. 

“It’s a pastry, not a bomb,” Bobby chuckled. “I don’t think it’s going to explode.”

Sam pulled Bobby’s hand down, bringing the item into view. He squinted at in the dim lamp light. 

“Looks harmless enough,” Marty muttered. “Wonder what all it does?”

Without a word, Sam pinched off a section of the dry insides and popped it into his mouth. 

“Sam! You idjit,” Bobby exclaimed as he grabbed at Sam. 

“Bobby! Bobby, look,” Sam said, trying to calm the older man down. “Listen to me! We need to know what this is, what it’s doing to Dean. I took a pinch, Dean had at least a thumb sized piece… Let’s see what happens… I can tell you if anything begins to happen and maybe the effects will give us a clue. Okay?”

Bobby sat on the coffee table with a thud. “Sam, you and your brother are going to be the death of me yet.”

Sam watched Bobby and Marty as they moved to the table, scrutinizing the remains of the pastry. Bobby grabbed a notepad from the counter and turned to Sam. 

“Start talking.”

“Bobby, seriously, nothing is happening yet.”

Bobby looked irritated as he replied, “Taste. Smell. Texture. You never know what might help us figure this thing out. So I’ll say it again, start talking.”

Sam yawned tiredly, trying to think through the morphine fog. “Definitely sweet, like the sweetest thing I’ve ever eaten. The texture seemed light enough when I tasted it…but it kind of feels like there’s a heavy weight in my gut.”

Bobby frowned as he wrote down Sam’s remarks. “Anything else? You seeing anything? Hearing anything weird?”

Sam shook his head as he felt a wave of dizziness hit him. Damn blood loss. He rubbed his eyes tired, before Bobby called his name. “Sam, you alright?”

Sam nodded and looked at Bobby. “I’m—“

Bobby was on his feet instantly. “Sam?”

Sam stared around the room. Everything was laced in light, the slightest motion setting of a new barrage of the silvery stuff. It seems to be seeping in through the floorboards, around the edges of the walls and furniture. It was impossibly beautiful and yet, painful to stare at. 

Sam closed his eyes, rubbing them as he tried to clear his vision. 

“Sam? Talk to me, son.”

“There’s light…it’s everywhere,” Sam muttered as he continued to rub his eyes. 

“Anything else, Sam,” Bobby asked. 

“Not yet,” Sam said as he rubbed his eyes again. 

Bobby stepped in front of him and tipped Sam’s head toward the light, scrutinizing his eyes. “No traces of the white coloring, maybe you didn’t get enough for that to happen. From what Gloria was describing, you might be in for delusions at some point. Before we get that far, anything else you’ve noticed? Any pain?”

“Other than my shoulder being on fire, no.”

Bobby glanced at Marty. “Might be time for some more morphine.”

“Bobby, don’t we have anything else,” Sam asked. “I’m just starting to feel like my brain is starting to work on all cylinders again.”

“We haven’t got anything else for pain except whiskey. It’s morphine until we get off Fort Eustis and can get to a pharmacy or clinic,” Bobby said as he watched Marty administer the shot. “Maybe we should separate you and Dean, just in case something—“

“No,” Sam said firmly as he shook his head slowly. “Bobby…is it getting hot in here?”

Bobby laid a hand over his forehead before turning to Marty. “Fever spike is right on schedule too.”

Marty took Dean’s sheet and carried it the kitchen sink. “Think we’ll end up trying to stuff them both into the tub,” he asked with a chuckle. 

“Be more likely to drag them both out into the rain,” Bobby replied. “Couch and all. Sam, look at Dean and see if he looks different to you. We need to make use of this little situation before you lose all sensibilities.”

Marty and Bobby removed the wet sheet from Dean while Sam scrutinized his brother. “He looks like everything else in the cabin, like light is just trickling in around him. The hand print on his face is bright, it’s the only solid, bright thing on him so far…Roll him over, let’s check his back.”

Bobby waited patiently while Sam looked over Dean. “Sam, look at his burn and see if the mark is still visible to you,” Bobby explained as he pulled the gauze and tape loose. 

Sam frowned and rubbed at his eyes as sweat trickled into them. “Nothing there.”

“Good,” Bobby exclaimed. “Maybe whatever it was, Gloria got it all then.”

After getting Dean covered back up, Bobby pushed glass after glass of water into Sam’s hand until Sam finally waved him away. “We need to get that poison out of your system as fast as we can, Sam.”

“I know, Bobby. But one more glass and I’m gonna hurl,” Sam muttered as he tried to rub at his eyes again. Without a word, Bobby swatted his hand away from his face. 

“Just close them for a little while, Sam. No sense in rubbing them raw.”

The cabin grew quiet except for an occasional murmur from Dean, Bobby watching the boys with concern. He knew Gloria had seen changes in Dean fairly rapidly and he hoped that Sam’s delayed reaction meant he didn’t ingest enough to experience the severe combativeness and fear that Dean had. He wasn’t sure he wanted to see what Sam’s paranoia would be like; the kid has dark spots in his past…not unlike his dad and brother. 

Restless, Bobby moved and checked Sam’s forehead, convinced that Sam had fallen asleep. Sam pulled away, startled by the sudden touch of someone. His heart sped up in his chest. “Don’t touch me…”

“Look at me,” the voice demanded. Something about the voice was familiar. 

Sam refused to open his eyes. “Dean?”

“You know I’m not Dean,” the voice said, changing altogether. “Look at me.”

Sam looked up hesitantly and came face to face with Jess. He felt his heart skip a beat. 

“You can’t be here…”

“Sam, what’s going on?”

“You’re dead…,” he mumbled as he tried to move back from her touch, looking around the room for someone to help him. “You can’t be here.”

“Sam,” the voice said. This time, it was stern, harsh. He looked up, hoping that wasn’t him. It couldn’t be him. 

John Winchester’s face was inches from Sam’s, a look of pure hate on his face and anger burning in his eyes. “SAM! Are you listening to me? Your brother—“

“STOP! Just stop, Dad,” Sam yelled out as he tried to push himself to his feet. His shoulder pounded as hands suddenly pushed him back into the chair. “I’m not…I’m not some soldier for you to boss around!”

“Sit down, Sam! Close your eyes…whatever you’re seeing, it’s not real,” the voice said. 

Sam ran a hand over his eyes and kept them closed, not trusting the voice, but scared of who might crop up next. Something was wrong. He wasn’t supposed to be here. Sweat trickled down his back and beaded over his forehead. He tugged at the collar of his shirt as stifling heat seemed to suffocate him. 

As a hand touched his forehead, Sam pulled away from it. He opened his eyes and was once again overwhelmed with the bright lights that seemed to slide in and out of sight. He screwed his eyes shut and fought back his rolling stomach. 

Bobby frowned down at Sam before motioning at Marty. They stepped away from Sam before Bobby broke the silence. “This was a bad idea,” he muttered to Marty. “Something’s wrong.”

“Of course it is, Bobby,” Marty said with a shrug. “The kid did something stupid in the heat of the moment…but this does give us an opportunity to observe how it’s going to run its course.”

“Observe…what we need is a certain clue about where the hell that damned pastry came from,” Bobby snapped as he watched Sam rub his eyes again. “We need to get us on the road as soon as possible as well. I want Dean trussed up in the panic room while we figure this thing out.”

Marty nodded his understanding as he hefted the whiskey bottle from the table. “Good way to do it. As for getting him in the car for a long drive, that’s going to be a problem.”

Bobby watched as Sam’s head began rolling from side to side, his brows furrowed tightly; a light motion that conveyed his discomfort. “Let’s get him cooled down before his brain boils out of his ears.”

Marty and Bobby grabbed Sam and hoisted him to his feet, an angry threat slipping from him as they maneuvered him to the bathroom. 

“Just not our day, is it Singer,” Marty quipped. 

“Shut up, you idjit,” Bobby muttered as they disappeared into the hallway, leaving Dean behind on the couch. 

The sound of water filling the tub and men talking was lost as a loud clap of thunder shook the cabin. Dean bolted upright on the sofa and looked around the room. He didn’t recognize anything. 

Dean leapt his feet, wobbling slightly as he made his way towards a door. He had to get free; he had to find Sam. He could hear rain pounding on the roof, making him shudder as he remembered the rain pelting him through the thatch roof of the shack. He jumped as another clap of thunder filled his sensitive ears. Unnatural light filled his vision, making it hard for him to see his surroundings. 

He got a few steps from the door when something dug into his hand. He frowned and squinted at the IV line trailing behind him. He grabbed it and yanked it out, throwing it on the floor, trying to recall if there had been one in his arm the last time he had woken in the shack. Confusion ate at him. Something didn’t make sense…The last time he had woken up in a strange place with a needle buried in his flesh, it had been a D’jinn. He hated D’jinn. 

Without a glance back, Dean stepped out into the storm. He rubbed his eyes, every raindrop a beacon of light that blinded him. A sound behind him startled him, sending him running out into the rain, his lungs burning as he went. He didn’t know where he was, but he knew this wasn’t where he wanted to be. 

As Bobby rounded the corner into the kitchen, he irritably rang water out of his shirt. “Damn kids,” he muttered as he began opening and closing kitchen drawers hoping to find a remaining dry towel. He distractedly glanced over to check on Dean and stopped cold.

The front door was open, rain blowing in across the narrow porch. Dean was nowhere in sight. 

Bobby raced out the door and onto the steps, trying to see through the storm. “DEAN!”


	17. Nobody's Tribute

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IMPORTANT NOTICES:
> 
> I made a slight change in Crowley’s conversation in the last chapter: 100 years changed to 7 years. Had to go with the lore I found, toooo good to ignore! 
> 
> Don’t go looking up this shit—you could but you’d ruin the story for yourself (and utterly dishearten me…I’ve been sleeping with an old library reference book of symbols and lore, don’t test me). I’m going to have to fabricate a few details since the only hardcore lore exists in some dusty private libraries overseas. I don’t have a passport… Woe is me. 
> 
> In this chapter, we will encounter an old OFC of mine, Alice (Alison) Hilty, from ‘In the Fold’. It’s not a requirement to read that one first (obviously) but Bobby needed a resource and she was feeling helpful. NOT a marysue, trust me. 
> 
> ANOTHER IMPORTANT ANNOUCEMENT….Find me on Tumblr…Please…I’m wifey-mcwiferson.tumblr Use the dash! I’m newish to it….help a girl out….Besides, I’m dying to ask stupid stuff…like what, if any, soundtracks you guys listen to while reading this…I know what I use to write it ;)

Fort Eustis, Newport News, Virginia 

“What’s wrong,” Marty asked worried as he raced into the room. 

“Dean’s gone. The door was open and his IV is on the floor. He must have woken up and wandered off,” Bobby explained hurriedly as he ran back in the cabin and grabbed a flashlight. “Keep an eye on Sam. I’ve got to find Dean before the military personal or those damn Dean snatchers do.”

Bobby raced out into the storm looking for Dean, the beam of light from the flashlight cutting a swath through the rain. Thunder and lightning continued to crack and flash overhead as rain pelted down. “Dean! DEAN!”

Bobby carefully looked around the cabin before racing off to the cabins that littered the area. None of them were lit from within and Bobby tried each door only to find them all locked tightly. Bobby glanced down the roadway, wondering if Dean would have stuck to the developed area or taken off into the woods near the cabin. 

Bobby ran back to the cabin, his mind whirling with worry. “No sign of him and I can’t track him through all this rain. I need you out there helping,” Bobby snapped as soon as he stepped through the door. “What a time for Sam to be down and out.”

“Let me drain the water from the tub so Sam doesn’t drown while we’re outside,” Marty said. 

Bobby adjusted his cap and scowled. “It’ll be a miracle if I can get that kid home before—“

He stopped midsentence, realizing what he had obviously overlooked. “Home…. –Stay with Sam, I’ll be back in a minute. I know where he went,” Bobby said as he headed for the door. 

He trudged back across the porch and stepped into the rain, slowly approaching the Impala. He must have run right past Dean in his hurry, overlooking the one place Dean would have gone. Even in Dean’s addled mind, the Impala was home. It was the place he felt safe, no matter how bad off he might really be. 

Bobby slowly popped open the passenger side door and slid onto the bench seat, closing the door as quietly as possible. He sat still and silent until he could make out the sound of Dean’s breathing coming from the backseat. 

“Dean?”

When he didn’t answer, Bobby slowly slid around and looked back at the young man. Dean lay on the seat, a thick wool blanket pulled over him. He looked up at Bobby, his eyes filled with distrust and discomfort. Bobby could detect more green in them this time, the white finally fading. “Dean, it’s Bobby, kid. Can you hear me?”

Dean sat up before moving closer to the door, ready to run; not really sure he could trust what he was hearing and seeing. 

“Just stay put, Dean. I don’t want to run through this rain after you. You’re back, kid. Don’t know where you went, but you’re back now,” Bobby said, a sense of relief in his voice. It felt good to say it finally say out loud. Now if he could just keep Dean in the car.

Dean sat silently, staring past Bobby out into the storm as lightning lit up the sky. 

“Do you remember being taken from my kitchen? You walked right out the door and disappeared.”

When Dean didn’t respond, Bobby kept talking. “That was well over a week ago. You ended up here in Virginia, on Fort Eustis, an Army base. We found a hunter here on base; she had already found you, laying in a ditch half frozen. You’ve been hallucinating and running a high fever since then.”

Bobby waited a minute before continuing on. He wanted a sign from Dean that he was back and ready to deal with reality. “Dean? Talk to me, son.”

“This…this isn’t real…can’t be…”

Bobby considered Dean’s words; harsh, fearful, and pained. “No, Dean, that’s what I’m telling you. This is real. This is the real Impala, I am the real Bobby, and the real Sam is inside getting cooled down from his own fever.”

Dean laughed; his voice rough and hoarse from disuse. “Yeah, right…”

“Dean, I know you’ve probably seen some crazy stuff, and you disappearing and reappearing all over the place is messing with your head. I’m guessing that a lot of what you’ve seen isn’t real.”

Dean scoffed. “Just like those other men…guess they weren’t real either, were they?”

“No, Dean. I don’t doubt that they’re real. But they’re still being held…well, prisoner, I guess. You got loose because I paid someone to hunt your ass down another way and to shake you loose. You were on the mend too, until one of those tall, gray beasties broke in and force fed you one of those goddamn pastries. Gloria said she made you throw a bunch of it up, but you still digested part of it. And you’re still digesting it, but the sounds of it,” Bobby said firmly. “It’s making you hallucinate…”

Dean snorted disrespectfully. “Nice try, but I know what this is…”

“And what is it,” Bobby asked, hopeful that Dean really did know what had happened to him and could provide Bobby with the crucial clue he needed to determine what they could hunt down to end this nightmare.

“D’jinn. I got taken by a goddamn D’jinn,” Dean snapped. “I saw the IV in my arm…must have had a moment of lucidity before I got another dose of the toxins…and now, I’m sitting in an imaginary Impala, talking nonsense to an imaginary Bobby about being trapped in my own friggin imagination. I’m screwed unless Sammy or the real Bobby finds me…”

Bobby shook his head in frustration. “The IV was for fluids, Dean. You feel that fire under your skin? That’s a fever you’ve been fight for over a day. Your brains are cooking and you’re just out of sorts right now, not suffering from some D’jinn’s toxins.”

Dean glared at Bobby. “That’s just what imaginary Bobby would say…to make me feel better at a time like this…”

Bobby wanted to smack the damnable argument right out of him. How was he supposed to make Dean believe him?

“It’s never been my job to make you feel better, just to help you and Sam, even when it made you feel worse,” Bobby spat gruffly. “Get out of the car.”

“No,” Dean said angrily from his place on the backseat. “This is my fantasy. Pretty sure that means I get to decide what I do. And I want to stay here until Sam finds me.”

Bobby turned to look at Dean. “Look here then, genius. If you were really taken down by a D’jinn and had a moment of lucidity before getting dosed again, you wouldn’t remember it, you dumbass. You might have a few seconds of something being out of place, but the whole fantasy wouldn’t disappear. You’d be back in some super fantastic fantasy where you’re shacked up with some red headed waitress and have a trunk load of pie. But no, you’re a miserable wreck who’s hiding in the back of his own goddamn car!”

Dean looked up at Bobby, one eyebrow rising slightly. “If that’s the best theory my inner Bobby can offer up, I’m either dying or dead…”

“Listen here, you irritable idjit, you were getting taken by something real, something that left bruises all over you—Hell, you’ve got a goddamn handprint on your face—and whatever was taking you, is going to come back for you. You want to hide out here and wait for it to come back…cause that’s just about the stupidest idea I’ve heard yet,” Bobby said, trying to compel Dean into listening to him. He didn’t want to drag Dean back into the house, kicking and screaming and fighting. But he would if he had to. “Try to remember what you’ve seen.”

Dean closed his eyes, trying to figure out what was real. Bobby sounded real and looked real. But then, if this was Dean’s imagination, he would. Dean listened to the rain pounding on the Impala’s roof. A shiver ran through him as he recalled the sound of the men’s hysteria and prattling conversations with imaginary people…he swallowed as the taste of bile rose in his throat. 

“I want you to be real…,” Dean muttered as he glanced up at Bobby. “But I need to know…”

“Remember that day in my house…,” Bobby said. He tried to recall what Charlotte had told him, anything that would help him convince Dean that he was really in danger; that he needed to listen to Bobby. It was almost cruel to ask him to remember reality when his own hallucinated beliefs were truly the safer version. He just needed Dean to come back into the cabin with him. 

“You were taken by something; it made you walk right out the door. Sam tried to stop you…he ended up with a concussion.”

Dean frowned as he pulled the blanket higher around him. Bobby watched him, frustrated as Dean seemed to balk at his words. “Listen, Dean. Try to remember,” he said firmly but gently. 

Dean rubbed at his eyes, wishing nothing more than to be able to look Bobby in the eye without the blinding lights messing with his vision. He tried to remember the last time he had been at Bobby’s house. The last time he had spoken to Sam. A memory trickled up, a deep frown settling on his face. 

“I….I walked out…I asked you to let me go…right?”

“You did…I wished I had fought you on it, kept you in the house…”

“I had to go,” Dean muttered, trying to piece everything together. “It hurt…I had to go to them…”

Bobby nodded and kept going. “The place you went, the place they took you…it was dark, rainy…there were trees there. Lots of trees.”

The ache of uncertainty increased, making Dean frown. 

“It would have smelly somewhat earthy….,” Bobby said, watching Dean’s face for any sign of recognition. He watched as Dean stared at his hands, his eyes not really seeing anything, his breath coming out faster. “Dean? You okay, kid?”

“I…I don’t want to go back…”

“To where,” Bobby asked hopefully. He needed Dean to keep talking.

“The shack...”

Bobby glanced at the cabin, just a few yards from the car. “I know it’s not great, but I’d hardly call that a shack.”

Dean didn’t say anything, just glanced out the other window, not toward the cabin, but at the stand of trees a few hundred feet from the cabins. Bobby watched as Dean pulled the blanket higher, blocking his view of the trees. 

“You didn’t mean this cabin, did you,” Bobby asked as he read Dean’s body language. The kid was scared of something, something he couldn’t name or even see; but his trust in Bobby was greater than his fear of whatever he thought was out in the dark recesses of the woods. 

“The shack…it was full of men…they weren’t right…they weren’t even scared…the rain kept coming in through the roof… cold, Bobby, really cold,” Dean said, his voice full of frustration and near hysteria. “I don’t know…none of this makes any sense.”

“Listen here, kid. This fever is going to break eventually and you’ll be able to piece this together. You can argue with me later, but we need to head back inside the cabin. If Sam’s anything like you, hallucinating and belligerent, Marty’s going to need some help with him.”

Dean didn’t move from his place on the seat. “You are one bossy hallucination,” he croaked out as he tried to clear his throat. 

“You keep sitting there and I’ll show you bossy…,” Bobby muttered as he climbed out of the car. He yanked the back door open and waited as Dean slowly stepped out of the car and into the rain. He looked so defeated that Bobby almost felt sorry for him as he motioned for Dean to walk to the cabin. “You can talk nonsense inside while I help your brother out.”

Dean allowed himself to be propelled across the terrain, rainwater soaking though the blanket. “Where are my clothes,” he asked with a shiver. 

Bobby chuckled. “What? Did your delusional pants and shirt go missing? They’re in the cabin. Gloria had to strip you to your boxers to get you into the tub.”

As Dean stepped into the cabin, he shielded his eyes from the bright light. Bobby grabbed his elbow and led him to the couch, his legs trembling under him as he went. He was exhausted and collapsed in a heap with a groan. “Just my luck...”

“What was that,” Bobby asked he sat on the edge of the coffee table, intent on bringing Dean back to reality if it took them staying awake the whole night talking. 

“I’m supposed to be living some friggin fantastic fantasy while some D’jinn sucks the life out of me and instead I’m sick and stuck talking to you.”

“It’s been real fun for me too,” Bobby said with a tired chuckle as he picked up another IV kit. 

“No,” Dean said as he pulled away from Bobby, his hands coming up defensively. “Not happening.”

“Then you’ve got to drink some water, eat something, and take a few pills for me. You’re choice,” Bobby explained, watching Dean closely. Dean shook his head from side to side, warily watching Bobby’s movements. 

“First, I’m going to go check on Sam and Marty. You stay put while we get your brother out here.”

Dean closed his eyes again, trying to figure out what all was real. He wanted Sam. He was miserably hot but wracked with shivers and he knew Sam couldn’t fix him, but he needed his little brother, even if he was only a hallucination. 

Dean’s eyes flew open as he felt something cold around his arm. Bobby, fake or not, had handcuffed him to the coffee table. “Might not stop you, but it’ll slow you down for a minute. I’ll go get Sam for you.”

Bobby trudged down the hallway, shaking his head in disbelief over their current predicament. Things just continued to get worse and he was ready for a break.

Marty stood back from the tub, Sam lying in the cool spray of the shower; he looked far too big for the tub, his knees high against the sides. His clothes were plastered to him, but that was just the price to pay for having a high fever and a combative refusal to be undressed. Bobby stepped into the room and stared down at Sam, who looked like downright miserable in his current state. He looked up at Bobby before rolling back on his good side, a dry heave wracking his frame. 

“He’s stopped hallucinating,” Marty said softly. “Kind of in and out right now, but seems alright enough.”

“And the fever,” Bobby asked. 

“It’s started to drop…especially since he started throwing up. It’s slowly coming down but a hell of a lot faster than Dean’s has,” Marty replied with a bemused look. “Apparently, Sam had just enough to get most of the symptoms but for a fraction of the time. Might not have been such a bad idea on his part after all.”

Bobby grunted his agreement. “Makes me wonder what would have happened to Dean if Gloria hadn’t made him throw most of it up.”

“Haven’t heard any good guesses from anyone yet?”

Bobby shook his head. “A few good ones, but so far, none of them have panned out. Someone has to have encountered these things before.”

“Just gotta find the right person with the right book,” Marty muttered as he adjusted the water temperature again. 

Well, I’ve got Dean on the couch again,” Bobby explained. “You let me know if you need me.”

Bobby headed back to Dean and found him still handcuffed to the table. Dean looked asleep and didn’t move as Bobby moved through the kitchen, placing a glass of water and box of crackers near Dean. 

“Dean, wake up,” Bobby said as he dug three Tylenol from the bottle. “You said no more IV, which means you get to take these with a few glasses of water. Doubt they’ll do anything for your fever, but by the look of you, you’ve gotta be hurting in a few places.”

Dean jolted awake and opened his eyes, the green even more pronounced in his eyes now. He frowned at the box of crackers in front of him and gulped back a lump in his throat. A faint memory tickled the back of his mind, a memory of fighting food being shoved in his mouth…those other men…they hadn’t fought…they had been trapped.

“No,” he muttered as he pushed the box away from him. 

“Dean, you have to eat,” Bobby argued as he held out the pills in his hand. 

“Get away from me,” Dean snapped as he pulled away from Bobby, tugging harshly at the handcuffs that held him to the coffee table. The memory of being restrained and prodded made panic rise in his chest. He fought against the handcuff before settling on grabbing the box of crackers and throwing it across the room. He wanted to be free, to be away from the cabin, to be away from hands that wanted to poke and prod at him. He wanted to be back in the Impala, where Sam would know to find him. 

“Dean! What the hell was that for,” Bobby exclaimed as he stared at the trail of crackers that now littered the floor. 

“Let me go! I know what you’re doing; you keep trying to make me eat—why? So you can keep me here forever? I know better,” Dean accused as he continued to yank on the handcuff, while Bobby tried to grab his hands. 

“Dean, stop it! You’re going to hurt yourself,” Bobby chided as tried to get in Dean’s line of sight. “Calm down!”

Dean ignored Bobby, swatting at him the second he tried to restrain Dean. 

“Dean, we talked about this,” Bobby said as he sat on the coffee table and tried to gently hold Dean’s arms still. “You said no IVs so I’ve offered pills. You take them when I say to and I’ll keep that needle out of your arm.”

Dean ignored him, tugging painfully against the handcuffs. “Let me go,” he howled. “Let me go! I want Sam! — SAM!”

In the back of the cabin, everyone turned to the sound of Dean’s cry. Gloria sprung off the bed and tore down the hallway as Marty grabbed Sam under his good arm and began to haul him to his feet. He didn’t care if Sam was having a hard time keeping his mind on the present, if the sight of Sam would calm Dean down; Marty would drag Sam back to the couch and deal with the fever there. Sam grabbed at anything he could reach, trying to stay upright and get to Dean. His head throbbed as he and Marty moved quickly up the hallway, Sam holding his aching arm tightly to his chest. He could feel the fever eating at him, but the sound of Dean’s voice had been enough to get him to leave the comforting water. He let Marty move him towards Dean and sat on the edge of the coffee table, while Bobby and Gloria tried to calm Dean down. His eyes were screwed shut as he continued to fight everyone. “Let me go! I want Sam!”

“Dean,” Sam said softly. “Hey man, I’m here.”

Dean’s thrashing halted as he opened his eyes and looked around Bobby to Sam. “Sam?”

“Yeah, Dean, I’m right here,” Sam said as he reached out and gripped Dean’s shoulder, gently pushing Gloria and Bobby to the side. “I’m right here. Everything is okay. We found you. Everything is fine.”

Dean relaxed somewhat, his shoulders drooping as he leaned toward Sam. Bobby watched in surprise as Dean let Sam pull him into a hug. “I’ve got you, Dean.”

“How do I know the difference….,” Dean mumbled into Sam’s chest, his eyes hidden from everyone. “I need to know what’s real…”

Sam sighed deeply. They had all been in that position at some point, and he knew that until Dean was really better, there was no way to answer the question. “You know there is no way for me to answer that…you just have to trust me. Trust all of us.”

They sat in that position until Bobby insisted on moving Sam to the armchair, wrapping a blanket around Sam’s shivering form while Marty replaced the gauze on his shoulder. Gloria moved to table, the bottle of whiskey in her sights; a glass in Bobby’s hand before she could even ask. Bobby poured his own glass, finally convinced it was time to get everyone into the car and away from the cabin before anything else could go wrong. He was about to suggest it when a sound caught his attention. 

A low guttural growl came from the hallway, everyone pausing in disbelief. Before anyone could move, the lights dimmed and flickered out, filling the cabin with darkness and the sound of Dean screaming. 

“Someone grab ahold of Dean,” Bobby yelled out as he grabbed the flashlight from the coffee table and pulled Gloria’s Beretta from his jacket. “Sam, get him quiet!”

Bobby and Gloria jumped and moved in the dim light cast off from the flashlight. Marty shoved the coffee table closer to the couch, allowing Gloria to push Dean into the couch cushions, her weight keeping him stationary. “Dean, calm down,” she said firmly. 

Dean kept right on yelling, threats and pleas rolling off his tongue as everyone else scurried around. As another screech tore through the cabin, Gloria placed her hand desperately over Dean’s mouth, trying to quiet him. He thrashed his head side to side, trying to dislodge her hand. 

“Sam! I said get him quiet,” Bobby snapped again, louder this time. 

“I’m trying, Bobby,” Sam said. “Dean! Dean, look at me. You have to stop yelling. Stop—“

Before Bobby could turn around again, Marty appeared with a syringe in his hand, pushing Sam to the side. He yanked Dean’s arm around and without a word, plunged the needle into Dean’s inner elbow and sent the fluid rushing out of sight. He and Sam watched as Dean’s movements slowed, his voice disappearing as the drugs went to work. “That should do the trick,” Marty said as he handed Sam a flashlight.

“What did you—“

“Quiet, Sam! We need to get our backs to the wall, we’re sitting ducks in here,” Bobby said quietly as he moved one of the armchairs out of the way. “You and Dean aren’t able to fight, so just keep him quiet so we can hear it and figure where the hell it is.”

Marty dropped the syringe on the table and moved next to Bobby, kitchen knife in his hand. “Guess that came in handy after all. Seen anything yet?”

“Not a damn thing, I wonder if Dean’s yelling spooked it,” Bobby said as he dug another flashlight out of a duffel bag. “This might be our best chance to see whatever it is.”

Marty nodded as Gloria moved between him and Bobby. “Have you got more ammo anywhere,” Bobby asked quietly. 

Gloria shook her head apologetically. Bobby sighed before handing her one of the kitchen knives. “Watch over the boys, Marty and I will check it out.”

Gloria handed her flashlight to Sam as she removed the handcuff from the table leg and placed it on Sam’s good arm, binding Dean to him. “Probably better keep you two together,” she muttered as she moved to rearrange the furniture to create a barricade. She watched as Bobby and Marty disappeared around the corner into the hallway, the room darkening as they went. 

Bobby and Marty moved into the hallway, years of hunting making their movements silent and cautious. A scratching sound caught Bobby’s ears as they moved up the hallway, he and Marty using hand signals as they moved toward the bedroom door. A quick glance into the bedroom brought Bobby to a halt, Marty a step behind him. The lights flickered back on, making Bobby cringe. 

Bobby watched as a tall figure slunk across the room; it’s leathery skin gray in the dim light filtering in from the bathroom. It moved not unlike a human, its movement’s fluid even with its long, lanky limbs. Bobby watched as it moved around the room, a peculiar sound pricking his ears. A frown crossed Bobby’s face as he watched the creature stoop low over the bed, sniffing the air as its head swept from side to side. Bobby moved into the bedroom, Marty a step behind him, blocking the doorway. 

“Looking for something, you evil son of a bitch,” Bobby demanded, the Beretta gripped firmly in his hand. 

The being turned slowly, something of a twisted smile on its face as it leery at Bobby and walked toward him. “The tribute must be collected,” it hissed through jagged teeth. “It’s time.”

Bobby took a step forward, the door slamming shut behind him as Marty moved to his side. They weren’t about to let it out of the room, not while they were still breathing. “He’s nobody’s tribute,” Bobby stated angrily as he took another step toward the towering monster. 

The being cocked its head to the side, a pantomime of human confusion. “The choice has been made. No other can be taken.”

“Your choice maybe…not ours...certainly not his,” Bobby said, his voice dangerously low as he flicked off the safety on the gun. 

“Step aside,” the being said, its dark eyes flicking from Marty to Bobby. 

“Over my dead body,” Bobby spat angrily as he lifted the Beretta and took aim. 

Sam and Gloria jumped as the sound of a gunshot and a loud screech tore through the cabin. “It’s okay, Dean,” Sam automatically said as he looked over at Dean. He didn’t manage much of a reaction, his movements uncoordinated, not even making the slightest sound as another gunshot echoed through the cabin, followed by silence. 

“Should we go see what happened,” Gloria asked worriedly as she watched the hallway. 

“No,” Sam said as he shook his head, wiping sweat out of his eyes. “Bobby will let us know when it’s time to move. Until then, we stick with Dean.”

Gloria nodded; uncertainty on her face. “What did they give him,” she asked as she motioned toward Dean. 

“No clue,” Sam said. “Knowing Bobby, probably something will knock him on his ass for a few hours while we sort this out and get the hell out of here.”

Before Gloria could reply, Bobby appeared in the doorway. “Gloria, get in here.”

With a shrug at Sam, she followed Bobby down the hallway and into the bedroom. “What was it?”

“Take a look for yourself,” Bobby said as he pointed to the corner of the room. “Is that what you saw skulking around in the cabin?”

Gloria felt her stomach turn as she approached the creature. It was laid out on the floor, its skin just as colorless and leathery as she remembered. Its long fingers were lax, yet still poised as though to beckon one towards it. The bullet wound that had shredded its way through the right eye made her cringe as she kneeled next to the mysterious corpse. 

“How did you kill it,” she asked incredulously. “I shot it—or one just like—and it didn’t die.”

“While you and the boys were sleeping, Marty and I sanctified the last of the ammunition. I wasn’t sure it would work, but two rounds through the eye seemed to do the trick,” Bobby explained. 

Gloria nodded her understanding; her dad had often paid a priest to bless the tools of his trade. “Does that tell you what is then?”

Bobby shook his head and adjusted his cap. “It helps narrow the gap, but it’s not conclusive by any means. But that’s why we’re going to perform an autopsy of sorts.” 

“What?... Please say that’s some sort of sick joke.”

“Nope,” Bobby said almost apologetically. “Now go grab me the kitchen knife and then come back and help me. Marty will stay with Dean and Sam; he’s got a few phone calls to make. Bring me your phone as well.”

Gloria rushed from the room and gathered the items Bobby requested. “Gloria, what was it,” Sam asked as Marty walked in with another duffel bag. 

“It’s—I don’t friggin know, Sam…Bobby wants my help…”

“For what?”

“You don’t want to know…”

Gloria moved back to the bedroom and handed Bobby the phone and the knife. “What do we do now?”

“We’re going to look for any identifying marks or features. I want you to take pictures with your phone as we go, you never know what might be the thing that gets it recognized,” Bobby said as he rolled the creature over, his eyes skillfully looking for any mark that might clue him into what they were looking at. “Could be the face… maybe its leathery skin…who knows.”

Gloria spent the next hour photographing everything from its teeth to its long fingered hands. She watched as Bobby slowly dissected the body, a look of pure determination and disgust on his face as he did. The smell was overwhelming of rot and something sickeningly sweet. When Bobby finally moved to wash his hands, Gloria ran past Sam and Dean, out the front door and to the edge of the porch, dry heaving as the smell of the creature clung in the air. 

She was standing on the front porch, breathing in the fresh air as rain blew past her when Bobby appeared at her elbow with a glass of whiskey in each hand. “You alright, kid?”

She nodded and took the glass without a word.

“You’ve done a good job, and while your daddy respected your decision to follow in his footsteps, he didn’t want this life for you, and your mother’s going to skin me alive for this…Once we leave here, you won’t see us again. We’ll let you go back to your life without a hitch.”

Gloria stared wordlessly into the rain. 

“I need you to email those pictures to a few people for me before we leave,” Bobby said as he handed Gloria a piece of paper. “Names and email addresses are right here.”

“Anyone I know,” Gloria asked as she unfolded the paper. 

“Doubt it. Just a bunch of retired hunters and a few of those who just keep to the books,” Bobby explained. “Now that we have a description maybe we can hope that someone else can identify it for us. I’ll be hitting the books again as soon as we get Dean into the panic room.” 

“Third name on the list…My dad had that name in his journal.” Gloria looked over the list before sliding it into her pocket. 

Bobby huffed and set his glass on the porch railing. “Alice Hilty. She helped him out once or twice. Helped a lot of us out over the years….She’s got an extensive library but last I checked she was on the road. I’ve left her a few voicemails…I haven’t heard from her yet but I figured I might as well send her the pictures…”

“So why not just head to her place and check her library while she’s out of town?”

Bobby shook his head quickly and chuckled. “Hell, no! Her privacy comes first...the end of her shotgun usually comes second… She’d do just about anything for one of John’s boys, but I’ll settle for waiting for a phone call. Now let’s get back inside—I want you showered, packed up, and out of here in an hour. Go to a friend’s house, or your mom’s. We’ll clean this mess up and get rid of the carcass before it starts to stink up the place.”

“When will you leave,” Gloria asked, glancing back out into the storm. 

“We’ll be gone in a few hours,” Bobby stated. “We’ll get the cabin cleaned out, the boys loaded up, and then head for the interstate. Should be home tomorrow, if we don’t have to stop much.”

Sam watched quietly as Gloria disappeared down the hallway, a trace of relief on her face. “She heading out?”

“Yep, that girl has done enough,” Bobby said as he began stuffing supplies back into duffel bags. “We need to get everyone out of here as soon as we can.”

A peculiar sound in the hallway made Sam jump, wincing at the ache in his shoulder. He watched as Marty walked into the room, dragging the end of a tarp behind him, a saw clenched in his other hand. 

“You so owe me for this, Singer,” Marty snapped; a look of disgust on his face. 

Bobby chuckled. “I seem to recall you owing me a few favors. You get rid of that carcass and that’ll clear it all up.”

“Fine,” Marty said. “If it wasn’t for the weird smell, wouldn’t be too bad of a job.”

“What will you do with it,” Sam asked curiously as Bobby stooped to remove the handcuff from his wrist. 

“Burn it, same as always,” Marty said with a shrug. “To wet to burn anything in this storm, so I’ll take it a few towns over to a friend of mine. He runs a funeral home….I’ll pay him to cremate it.”

“Good plan.”

“Sam, I know you’re not really up to any heavy lifting yet, but I need you to help get us packed up,” Bobby said. “I want us on the road in two hours.”

“What about Dean?”

“What about him,” Bobby asked. 

“How are we going to get him off base? He’s not even supposed to be here,” Sam asked. 

“Easy,” Gloria said as she walked back into the room. “It’s not like they keep a head count at the gate. You’ll just drive right out the main gate, no need to stop for anything. You should be fine.”

“And how do we get him to South Dakota when he’s hallucinating and fighting everyone? It’s not he can ride in the trunk…With my shoulder all stitched up, I won’t be able to help keep him still if he flips out again,” Sam asked worriedly. It’s not like they hadn’t each had that experience at some point but a nearly twenty four hour drive was pushing it. There would be no way to keep Dean calm, especially if the creatures reappeared to take him. 

“Also easy,” Marty said as he tossed a small clear bottle to Sam. “Dope him up on the road, get him ass into the panic room, and find out who these ugly, smelly sons of bitches are and kill them.”

“When you put it like that…you do kind of make that sound easy,” Gloria said hesitantly. 

“Practice makes perfect,” Marty said with a shrug. “He’s not the first hunter who needed to be moved while being crazy.”

An hour later, Gloria waved and pulled away from the cabin, her car speeding out of sight and disappearing into the darkness as Sam watched from the porch. “You ready to get this done,” Bobby asked from the open doorway. 

“Might as well be,” Sam said as he turned and watched as Bobby and Marty carried Dean out of the cabin, wrapped in a sheet. He headed to the car, opening the backdoor for them before climbing into the front seat. Dean didn’t make a sound as he was laid out on the backseat and covered with a blanket, his handcuffed hands out of sight along with the IV that Marty had replaced. Sam watched as sweat continued to bead on Dean’s forehead as the fever raged on, a sure sign that their drive was going to be far from easy. 

Sam waited as Marty and Bobby tossed a few duffel bags into the trunk before placing one on the front seat with Sam. “Keep it close,” Marty said as he slammed the door. 

With some difficulty, he got the zipper open and found a few bags of IV fluids and loaded syringes, presumably with the sedatives Marty had brought along for Dean. He sighed and glanced back at Dean. He wanted to talk to Dean, to have Dean working the case with them—not to be the case and to be useless in helping solve the problem. 

Bobby and Marty walked the cabin once more, looking for anything that might look out of place. “Not a bad job on our end,” Marty said as Bobby closed the front door behind them. “So…we even now?”

“I said we would be, and we are,” Bobby said, shaking Marty’s outstretched hand. 

The drive to the base’s exit was short, Sam nervously glancing back at Dean every few minutes. “Sam, stop that. You’re going to get whip lash just from check on him,” Bobby scolded even though he himself had the rearview mirror adjusted so he could see Dean. “They’re not going to even stop us.”

“Hope you’re right,” Sam muttered. 

Sam breathed a sigh of relief as they drove right past the guard station and down the long drive that would take them to the main road. 

“Think we’ll get to South Dakota without any problems,” Sam asked worriedly. 

Bobby snorted contemptuously. “Did you hit your head back there? You know this isn’t going to go well—it never does when it comes to you two….”

As Bobby pulled the car onto the interstate, his phone rang; making him swerve on the road as he quickly dug it from his pocket. 

“Yeah,” he said absentmindedly into the phone as he navigated into traffic. 

“Bobby Singer…it’s been a while,” a female voice said, somehow friendly and yet annoyed at the same time. 

“Alice,” Bobby said, the name catching Sam’s ears, making him glance at Bobby. He didn’t know they were still in touch.

“I found your voicemails this morning. I haven’t been home in a few months; I’ve been chasing down some leads on my own case here in Florida. But I might have some information for you—“

“Did you look at the pictures?”

“I don’t need to see them to know what’s after Dean….,” she replied confidently. There was something else in her voice that put Bobby on edge, something that sounded a lot like pity. “I remembered reading an old ballad about something like this…”

“So what the hell is it?”

“You’re dealing with the Fay—“

“Alice, no one has—“

“I’m still talking, Bobby…Now, listen to me for minute cause I didn’t just have my library just rifled through by my neighbor for nothing…he confirmed it. Dean is a Teind…”

Bobby hit the brakes and the Impala slid onto the shoulder of the road, gravel scattering under the tires. “What the hell is that?”

“It’s a tithe—“

“For what? Who’s collecting it for whom,” Bobby demanded angrily. If he found out that Dean had sold his soul yet again, he’d buy the contract from Crowley himself and keep Dean’s soul on ice until Judgment Day. 

“It’s a contract, between the Fay and Hell.”

Bobby’s stomach churned. “Are you saying—“ 

“I’m saying that every seven years, the Fay are required to tithe a group of souls to Hell,” Alice said. “The way he’s been disappearing...just from what details you left on my voicemail, I’d bet my entire collection of books the Fay have him dog eared as part of their payment.”

Bobby sat silently, his brain whirling with panic and anger. He glanced at Sam, his eyes boring holes into him, waiting to hear good news. 

“You still there, Bobby,” Alice asked. 

Bobby swallowed the lump in his throat. “Yeah…I’m going to need whatever books you have on this…”

“I already had my neighbor mail copies of the pages. Figured you’d want to read it for yourself.”

“I’m going to kill that son of a bitch Crowley for this—“

“This deal goes way back before Crowley; Lucifer himself signed the contract with the Fay. All Crowley can do is collect what’s owed to Hell. He can’t alter the contract…and the Fay choose their tributes for themselves. Until the tithe is delivered to Hell, Crowley won’t even know who’s on the list.”

“Doesn’t matter…that demon is getting summoned for a little not nice pow-pow in my living room. Was there anything about stopping this in the book,” Bobby asked. 

“No.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...Anyone other than me smelling that brimstone yet? Bwahahahaaaa! So, yeah…this story has spurned some really interesting reading for me…And holy crap is this story getting more and more involved as it comes together.   
> Okay: also, for the one smartass who will comment on this…it’s pronounced: “Teend” …the E’s are long. It’s Britishy….Also…if you’re British…kudos for being able to say it with the proper accent.   
> Any thoughts, I’d love to hear them!


	18. A Hell of a Time to Panic

Bobby watched Dean’s face as he adjusted the IV line that was hanging over the edge of the front seat, worry etched deeply into his face. They were nearly six hours into their journey and Dean hadn’t managed to be awake for more than a few scattered minutes of the drive. He finished messing with the line and glanced out at Sam, standing at the gas pump, staring out into the distance. They hadn’t said a word since Bobby had relayed the information from Alice. Sam had sat silent, his hands curled in angry fists, as Bobby drove them towards South Dakota. 

“Sam, give me a minute,” Bobby called as he stepped out of the car and headed for the stretch of grass near the small convenience store, his cell phone in hand. 

He dialed Marty, his mind whirling with information and worry. 

“Bobby,” Marty said as he answered. “Those boys can’t possibly be causing any more trouble…you’ve only been gone about six hours.”

Bobby scoffed. “They excel at finding ways. Listen, I’m getting worried about Dean…he hasn’t been really awake yet—Hell, I swerved to avoid an accident and he ended up on the floor of the car, didn’t even make a peep!”

“You and Sam wanted him calm and quiet! Jeez! Look…skip the next IV bag that I premixed and just use one of the regular bags,” Marty exclaimed into the phone. “What’s got you all worried, Singer? This isn’t your first rodeo.”

“No…it certainly isn’t,” Bobby replied as he glanced back at the Impala. “I got a call from Alice Hilty—“

“The Alice Hilty? I thought she wasn’t helping us out anymore—“

“She is this time,” Bobby said, interrupting Marty. “She knows what’s after Dean. It’s not going to be easy to fix this.”

“She have any pointers?”

“She’s got a few books and ideas,” Bobby explained. “Might be nothing, but we’ve got to try anything we can.”

“She coming up there to help you,” Marty asked. He knew Alice wasn’t one to rub elbows with hunters, especially after she had been hunted by them so often over the last century. 

“Doubt it. We’ll manage. This sedative is just working a little too damn well if you ask me.”

“Just call me if you want something else, I’ll sort him out,” Marty said before he hung up.

“Who was that,” Sam asked as Bobby climbed back into the Impala and cranked the engine. 

“Marty. I want you to skip his next sedative. I want to know if under all those drugs he’s with us yet…or if he’s still just out of it. I’d rather have him off the drugs and somewhat lucid now rather than waiting until we get home to dry him out.”

Sam nodded. “Hopefully, he’s more with it and less argumentative.”

“Shouldn’t be this bad off…wish he’d wake up enough to say something.”

“He might be miserable and ranting, but I know what you mean,” Sam replied. “He’s just to quiet.”

Another two hours into the drive, Dean became restless in his sleep, muttering threats as his hands lashed out at figures in his dreams. Sam watched helplessly as Dean’s head thrashed from side to side, fear etched into his face and anger in his voice. Sam knew this was the beginning of the sedative wearing off, that this was truly where Dean was, and that it might only get worse. 

“Wish we could do something else to help,” Sam mumbled as he ran a hand over his unshaven face. “He sounds miserable…”

“With you, all Marty and I could do was wait for it to pass…course, it seemed to help that you were throwing up, but I don’t think Dean even has anything left in his system for that kind of thing,” Bobby commented. “At least the threats sound like Dean…he might only be fighting nightmares, but at least he‘s fighting.”

They drove on, eating up the road between them and the salvage yard; a place where they could finally take a minute to breath and get their bearings. Bobby and Sam stopped often, each time taking a moment to check Dean’s temperature, to try and rouse him, and to press a bottle of water to his lips. The closer they got to the salvage yard, the more aware Dean became, pushing their hands away as they attempted to adjust the IV line, to cover him with the light sheet Bobby had stolen from the cabin, and everything else that Dean normally considered mother-henning.

“Stop…,” he finally muttered as they crossed into Nebraska. “Sammy...stop.” 

With a shared glance and a deep sigh, Bobby pulled off the road and killed the engine. “You awake, Dean?”

“Sick…”

“Just hold on a second,” Sam said as he quickly climbed out of the car and yanked open the rear door. He kneeled on the edge of the seat and ruffled Dean’s hair. “Let’s get you upright.”

Dean didn’t answer him as he rolled onto his side and began dry heaving. “Dean, come on, man, you’ve got nothing to throw up. You need to sit up. It’ll pass.”

Bobby climbed in the other door and yanked Dean upright; tightening the seatbelt over his shoulder to keep him positioned upright. They waited silently until Dean’s dry heaving had tapered off to a slight gagging cough. Dean’s bright eyes slid open, glaring up at Bobby. He thrust the handcuffs under Bobby’s nose. “Off…now.” 

Bobby shook his head. “Once you’ve been awake for an hour without flipping out and trying to kill anyone, I’ll take them off. I’m not going to have you ambush us from the backseat.”

“I’m fine,” Dean snapped as he yanked against the handcuffs. 

“Calm down, son. Your fever has been slowly going down, but you’re not there yet,” Bobby said, gauging Dean’s temperature with his hand. “Be better if you didn’t throw up what little fluids you’ve got left.”

“Don’t touch me…hurts everywhere…,” Dean ground out as he flinched away from Bobby’s touch. He caught sight of the IV still dangling from his arm and turned to look at Sam. “I said no…get it out…”

“Only after you drink something,” Sam stated firmly. He held a bottle of Gatorade in front of Dean’s face, watching as Dean’s eyes tracked it, suspicion in his eyes. “You want to drink this for me so I can get that thing out of your arm?”

Dean rolled his face away from Sam, closing his eyes and shutting out Bobby and Sam. His vision was still filled with bright lights that made his head hurt. Before Sam could say anything, Dean was asleep again, his breathing slow and calm once more. 

“Guess that’s a big no,” Sam muttered to Bobby. “How long before the sedative completely wears off?”

“Not soon enough,” Bobby said as he climbed back behind the wheel. 

Dean woke up an hour from the salvage yard. “Sam?”

“Dean? Hey man, about time you woke up,” Sam said as he turned on the seat so he could look at Dean. His eyes were still fever bright as he stared up at Sam, his handcuffed hands catching his attention. 

“Sam…” 

At the sound of Dean’s voice, Bobby and Sam glanced at each other. He sounded weaker than before. 

“How you doing, Dean? Do you remember where we’re headed,” Bobby asked loudly. During one of Dean’s short moments of alertness, Sam had tried to tell Dean that they were on the road. It was debatable how much Dean had retained from their earlier talks. 

“Mmm-hmmm,” Dean murmured as he tried to sit up, gripping the back of the seat for leverage. His head swam dizzily as Bobby hit a bump in the road. 

“How about some English in there somewhere,” Bobby chuckled, worry momentarily pushed aside at the sight of Dean up and moving. 

“The yard,” Dean muttered as he stared blearily at the handcuffs still wrapped around his wrists. “Get ‘em off… now.”

“Might as well go ahead, Sam; doesn’t look like he can even keep his head up, much less cause any trouble,” Bobby said, handing him the key. “The IV stays in, you hear me?”

Dean grunted tiredly and tossed the handcuffs on the floor. 

“You hungry,” Bobby asked as he pointed to a billboard up ahead. 

Dean shook his head, recoiling from Sam’s hand on his forehead. “Not hungry.”

“Fever’s still going,” Sam exclaimed. “How is that possible?”

“I’m batman, that’s how. And stop touching me,” Dean said as he pulled a blanket from the floor. He wasn’t about to admit he was freezing cold, fever or not. 

“Idjit,” Bobby said, a small smile tugging at his mouth. It was good to hear Dean sounding like himself.

“Dean,” Sam said slowly. “We’ve got some information that’s going to help.”

Dean looked from Bobby to Sam, a trace of hope on his face. “What did you find?”

“It’s the Fay that’s been taking you. Least, we think it is,” Bobby explained. “Got a phone call earlier today; it sounds like it matches up with some lore.”

“So you have a book or something Sammy can read over dinner and we can have this finished before breakfast, I hope,” Dean said slowly. 

“I wish,” Bobby grumbled. “But no, I don’t have the right books for that. I’ve never seen many books on the Fay, certainly never found one to buy. Most of them are oversees, since that’s where the majority of lore began. A friend down south is mailing us a few things, books and such.”

“The south….What friend,” Dean asked curiously. Bobby might have contacts, hunting buddies, and some enemies, but he didn’t use the term friend very often. 

Bobby cleared his throat, adjusting the rearview mirror to see Dean’s face. He wanted to gauge his reaction. “Alice Hilty.”

Dean frowned and look away from Bobby’s eyes. “Well, that can’t be good news.”

“Why? Cause its Alice? She helped us out a lot with that whole Wendigo thing,” Sam asked, confused. He knew Dean had never been overly fond of her, primarily due to the circumstances of how they met, and her history with their dad; but when they parted ways with her Dean had seemed fine with her. But as for this—this almost sounded like resentment. “I thought you were okay with her.”

“There’s nothing we can do, right? Is that what you found out,” Dean suddenly spat. “We don’t hear from her in ages and now she just happens to pop up with the book we need? You called everyone before and she’s just now willing to call us back?”  
The three men sat silent as the engine purred, eating up the last few miles that stood between them and some decent rest. Sam knew that Dean wasn’t as strong as his little rant might suggest; his breath quick and raspy, his knuckles white as he clutched the edge of the seat. Sam knew they were depending on Alice’s lead, that without her help, they would be useless against those coming for Dean. He also knew that Dean would push anything aside to act his default setting of ‘I’m fine’. 

“Is this anything to do with how she just disappeared off the map after Dad died,” Sam asked, his words heavy in the air. “I know you tried to call her…so did I…And I think Bobby did too. You don’t see us bitching about it!”

Dean turned away from Sam, looking out the window as the scenery whooshed past. “No. But if she didn’t want to help us, that’s on her.”

“Help—Dean, what did you expect her to do? Bring him back…,” Sam exclaimed. “Dean, look, man—Alice didn’t call anyone when word got around that he died. We weren’t exactly expecting a sympathy card from anyone, were we? So let it go, she’s answered the phone this time and that’s what matters now.”

“I don’t want her help. We can do this on our own.”

Bobby sighed and rubbed his tired eyes. He was too old and too tired to put up with Dean’s sudden resistance to the only help they had found. “Sam….what do you think,” Bobby asked. “Think we can figure this out without help?”

Sam knew the answer. Alice had given them a name, a few references, and while Sam and Bobby could take some extra time making phone calls and hunting down professors who might be able to give them some information, Alice was practically standing in from of them with what they needed. Even better, she had already mailed it to them. But he knew Dean wasn’t against the books she was offering them. He was against help from Alice. If it had been some old hunting buddy that they hadn’t heard from in ten years, he’d have been more willing to go with it. This was Alice, the hunter from their dad’s own past, whom Bobby had put up to saving Dean in the past. Dean hadn’t even said her name since John had died, other than the one voicemail he had left her. 

“Dean…We need the help…so….you don’t get a say,” Sam muttered lightly, his tired eyes glued to the horizon. “Not this time.” 

Bobby watched Dean in the rear view mirror; at Sam’s words he went stiff, his back straightening as he pulled away from his brother. Dean stared at Sam, something a lot like surprise written on his face. He was the big brother; he made decisions; not only for himself but for Sam at times too. Bobby knew that Dean wouldn’t take well to losing his own vote, but damned if he wasn’t proud of Sam for taking a stand against Dean’s hindering attitude. 

“It’s my problem,” Dean said, his voice dangerously low. “I say we can handle it.”

“No, Dean, we can’t! We’ve tried—while you were missing…we called everyone. Bobby called in every favor he had, and nobody—NOBODY—knew about this. No one else recognized it. It might be a week late, but at least someone called us back,” Sam snapped. “Sorry it had to be Alice, but that’s who answered the call and I’m goddamn it— I’m just happy that anyone called us back!”

Dean angrily moved away from Sam as far as the seat would allow before he yanked the IV line from his arm and threw the whole mess over the seat into Sam’s lap before pulling the blanket up around his shoulders. He ignored Bobby’s eyes in the mirror and stared out the window. 

“Dean…that’s not helping anybody,” Bobby said with an annoyed sigh. “I’m going to have to put that back in unless you drink something.”

Before Dean could reply, Sam thrust a Gatorade into Dean’s face, a daring look on his face. “You’ve got to drink it. Or else the needle goes back in.”

Dean grabbed the bottle, his face wrought with anger. He quickly rolled the window down and chucked it out before Sam could even open his mouth. “I don’t want it,” Dean snapped, glaring back at Sam. “…Let’s just get to Bobby’s and figure this out, alright?”

They road in silence the rest of the way, pulling into the yard afternoon; Bobby killed the engine and waited. “How are we going to do this?”

Sam glanced at Dean, his back still to them. He couldn’t tell if Dean was sleeping or not. 

“Alice’s information pretty much makes our original plan a go,” Sam said quietly. “We’ve just got to get him to cooperate.”

“Sam, there is no ‘we’ for this part…he decides to fight us and your shoulder will be ruined. That happens and you’re right going to the hospital, I’m not trying to stitch it all back together again,” Bobby stated. “This is on me to get him in there.”

“So…let’s just tell him—“

“Tell me what,” Dean asked, his voice tight with frustration, as he pulled himself upright, rubbing sleep from his eyes. 

Bobby and Sam looked at each other, neither wanting to be the one that had to tell Dean he was going to be on lockdown for an undetermined amount of time. 

“According to some of the lore, and this is all just speculation, but it’s the best we’ve got—“

“Just spit it out, Sam,” Bobby said. 

“You’ve got to stay on lockdown….specifically, in the panic room…,” Sam said.

Dean’s demeanor changed, anger returning to his voice. “Why?”

“The iron…it should help keep you grounded here so they can’t take you,” Sam explained. 

“Supposedly,” Dean snapped. “But it’s not a guarantee, right?”

“It’s the best we’ve got right now,” Bobby interjected. “Once we can dig into the lore, we may find something else a little more tolerable. For now, we’ve got iron as a defense.”

“If you haven’t even seen the lore yet, how do—“

“Alice told us.”

Dean sat back, his face falling. 

“She had Abraham look through the books before he tossed everything into the mail for her,” Sam explained. “She called us earlier…Bobby spoke with her and they think the iron in the panic room may be the best way to keep you put while we sort out the rest of the lore and try to find a way to fix this.”

Dean shook his head slowly. “I’d rather be upstairs with you guys. I can help.”

“We know,” Bobby said. “But we’ll take shifts downstairs.”

Dean didn’t say anything as he pushed the backdoor of the car open, grimacing as he stood. His feet were still sore, much like the rest of him. He walked towards the house, Sam trailing behind him with a duffel bag. Dean sat on the edge of the steps and let Sam and Bobby move into the house. 

Sam tossed the duffel bag onto the floor and waited in the doorway, holding his arm to ease his aching shoulder, keeping Dean in his sight while Bobby made arrangements below. He knew Dean needed to fight the enemy, not hide out in a panic room while someone else did it for him; it was his way.

Dean glanced around the yard, trying to ignore the hole Sam was burning into his back with his constant staring. He breathed the cool air deeply, turning his face toward the light. A light breeze blew past, making him shiver as it moved over his still fevered skin. He didn’t even remember the last time he had just been alone without Gloria, Sam, Bobby, or one of those things hovering over him. He wanted the world to be still and quiet, to give him a minute to think. 

Fifteen minutes later, Bobby appeared at Sam’s elbow, pausing when he saw Dean sitting on the steps. Even without seeing his face, Bobby could see his unhappiness. His shoulders were dropped; his head tipped slightly forward, his chin low. His hands were clutching the edge of the steps, knuckles white from gripping the wood. Bobby knew Dean was panicked at the thought of being locked up downstairs. No one wanted to be locked in the panic room. It was one of the places that was high on the list of bad memories, watching Sam detox from demon blood at the top of that list. Dean’s last prolonged stay in a panic room had been some time ago, in Alice’s panic room no less. 

Bobby waited until Dean moved before he called his name. “Dean, it’s ready for you.”

They watched as Dean pulled himself to his feet, refusing to meet their eyes as he pushed past them and into the house. Without a word, he climbed the stairs down to the cellar and stared at the gaping metal door across the room. He hated the panic room and while he didn’t want to have to sit it out alone, he wasn’t about to let Bobby and Sam coddle him and sit shifts with him. He stepped into the room and surveyed Bobby’s handiwork. 

Bobby had set up two cots in the room, a testament to his promise that they would sit shifts with him. A stack of books had been balanced on the narrow table across the room, chairs on either side. He cracked a small smile when he saw the magazines sticking from under the pile of books. A grocery sack caught his attention; his stomach flip-flopped at the sight of pie. He pushed the bag aside and caught his reflection in a small mirror on the wall. He stared at his reflection, bruises marring him, the large hand print still covering his face. He knew he looked bad, even if his sight wasn’t quite back to normal yet. 

“It’s worse than Sam’s letting on. It’s why he’s fighting you like he is…”

Dean jumped at the voice and relaxed as Bobby stepped into the room with him, bags in hand. 

“What do you mean,” Dean asked him suspiciously. 

“I mean Sam is worried about telling you what we know, or what we think we know. I’m going to tell you anyhow, cause I’m hoping that telling you makes you more willing to cooperate and stay in this damn room.”

Bobby sat on the edge of one of the cots. “Until those books get here, Alice has better knowledge of this whole thing than I do. I also trust that she has no ill will towards any of us, even with her history with your dad. If she is right about all this, it ain’t going to be easy to fix this. She thinks you’ve been marked as something called a Teind.”

“A Teind? What the hell is that?”

Bobby started to empty the bags out onto the cot as he spoke, sorting out antibiotic ointments, pill bottles, and extra clothes for Dean. “It’s a tithe that the Fay collects and pays every seven years. It takes hundreds of men, as a collective, for the payment to be settled.”

“So who’s getting the tithe in the end? Sounds like that would be the one for us to go after,” Dean remarked as he thumbed through one of the books. 

Bobby sat silent for a second, knowing there was no way that Dean was going to handle this well. He had been to hell once already and the thought of going back would be hard to for him to hear, even if they had a plan. Not that they did yet. 

Bobby considered Dean’s words. Normally, that’s exactly what they would do, but this time…this time that wasn’t possible. He discreetly patted his jacket pocket, the small syringe inside. He had promised Sam he would do his best to avoid using it. They needed Dean better and talking to them, not doped to high heaven because he freaked out and made a run for it. 

“It’s a payment that is paid to Hell,” Bobby explained slowly, his eyes glued to Dean.

Dean looked up at Bobby so fast his vision swam, paling at the words. “What did you say,” he choked out, his voice suddenly rough and tight. 

“Hell, Dean. I said it’s –“

“I heard what you said,” Dean yelled, his voice echoing off the walls. He paced around the room, his jaw set. “You’re wrong…”

“If the lore is right—“

“Then the lore’s gotta be wrong then,” Dean snapped as he grabbed the duffel bag on the floor and started stuffing it full of the clothes Bobby had brought him. “If they can’t find me—“

“They’ll find you, Dean,” Bobby said with a deep sigh. “They’ve been running their prey to ground for centuries; if there is one thing they know how to do, it’s finding who they’re looking for.”

Dean shook his head angrily, refusing to give in to Bobby’s words. “No…I can—“

“What? Outrun them? You’re still fevered, haven’t eaten anything in who knows how long… It’s not a good idea, Dean. You know that!”

Dean turned and walked to the panic room’s open door, the duffel bag gripped tightly in his hand. His head was spinning from the information, his body aching from the movement of being awake and upright. He placed a hand on the doorway, ready to step from the room. He stared down at his bare feet, pale against the dark painted floor. 

“Dean, listen to me…We aren’t about to let this happen but the first part of that begins with you staying here. In this room. If you leave—we can’t let you leave, Dean. We won’t let you go again.”

Dean heard the truth in Bobby’s voice. It was a threat, one made of good intentions and family bonds. 

Bobby watched as Dean dropped the bag to the floor and leaned against the wall, sliding down it until he was sitting on the floor. Unfallen tears glistened in his eyes; anger, fear and panic encompassing him. “It’s gotta be wrong…I can’t go back, Bobby...I can’t…”

“I know,” Bobby said gently. “And we’re not going to let that happen.”

“How?”

“We’re working on something,” Bobby said reassuringly. He could lie when he had to.

Dean nodded his head slowly, his eyes glued to his hands. “I’m just destined to be down there…can’t seem to stay out of Hell…”

“That’s just your fever talking,” Bobby said as he stooped low and tipped Dean’s head up, scrutinizing his appearance. 

“No…it’s not...,” Dean muttered, his eyes glazed over in fear and fever. “I’m going to burn…forever…”

Bobby watched worriedly as Dean just sat there, a brokenness about him that Bobby hadn’t seen since John had died. 

“I want you to get some sleep,” Bobby said. “Been a long day and you need to finish getting that poison out of your system.”

Dean didn’t move, his eyes staring at the floor. 

“Dean?”

Bobby sighed and grabbed Dean’s shoulder, squeezing it hard. Dean looked up at him, worry on his face. He let Bobby pull him to his feet and gently push him toward the cot. Dean dropped ungraciously unto the one farthest from the door, shivering lightly, his back to Bobby and the inviting doorway that led to fresh air and the real possibility of being kidnapping for some hellish payment. 

He was startled when a colorful flash fluttered in the air inches over him. He flinched before he realized Bobby was unfurling a quilt over him, shaking it out, as it floated down onto him. Dean ran a hand over the familiar fabric, the stitched lines comforting. “Forgot about this,” he mumbled. He hadn’t laid eyes on the log cabin quilt for some time, not since it had disappeared from Bobby’s couch awhile back. 

Bobby chuckled as he moved a chair next to Dean. “Well, I didn’t. Back when you showed up here with it…after being at Alice’s for so long…I figured you might have gotten a little attached to it.”

Dean didn’t say anything as he traced the familiar pattern. It was comforting, warm and friendly. 

Dean didn’t say anything as Bobby held out a bottle of Gatorade. “Now, I know Sam was pushing this earlier and you weren’t giving in. You’re an adult and fevered or not, you know you need something or else your body isn’t going to be able to survive the fever.”

Dean stared at the quilt under his hand. “Just leave it by the cot.”

“You going to drink it?”

Dean didn’t answer him, his eyes wandering to the quilt again. “Is she coming?”

“Who,” Bobby asked, confused. “Alice?”

Dean nodded slightly, his face hard. 

“She didn’t say,” Bobby admitted. “You want her to?”

Dean frowned. “When is Sam coming down?”

“He’ll be down in a little while once he’s gotten something to eat and I get a chance to change that dressing on his shoulder,” Bobby explained. 

“What happened to Sam,” Dean asked. Keeping Sam safe was his job. 

“He got shot…hit the bone,” Bobby said. “I got it all out and stitched him back together, but it’s a mess.”

“He taking antibiotics,” Dean asked, wiping sweat out of his burning eyes. 

“Course! You think I’m an idjit,” Bobby scoffed with a chuckled. “He takes his better than you take yours.”

“Yeah…well, this sucks,” Dean muttered as he pulled the quilt under his chin, shivering.

Bobby sat next to Dean, waiting for Sam to wander down and take over for a bit. He flipped through one of the books he had brought down for Dean; not reading so much as listening to Dean’s breathing. He had dozed off after a few minutes of Bobby rustling pages. Bobby was startled as Dean woke with a cry and suddenly bolted upright, leaning heavily over the side of the cot; dry heaving again. 

“You alright, son,” Bobby asked. 

“I could taste it…,” Dean whispered breathlessly.

“What,” Bobby asked as he laid a hand over Dean’s forehead, a look of sympathy creeping across his face.

“…Brimstone…,” Dean said as he leaned into the touch, letting out a low, misery filled sigh. In that moment, he hated himself. He didn’t want to lie here anymore, or be taken care of by anyone. He wanted Sammy to pack the car and hit the road, leaving this madness behind. He hated that someone—anyone even, had spent time hunting for a way to fix this. People needed to be saved, but he didn’t want it to be him they saved. Innocent people, those were the ones who deserved to be helped. If Hell wanted him; he’d end up there no matter how hard he fought. “Let me go, Bobby…let them take me…,” he whispered, an unbid tear trailed down his fevered cheek. 

Bobby put a steadying hand on his shoulder, rubbing circles on his back. Dean looked awful, a new level of misery, even by Winchester standards. “Just a nightmare…And we’re never going to let that happen.”

He watched as Dean’s tremors slowed, his eyes drooping shut as he leaned heavier and heavier against Bobby’s arm. He caught Dean in time, shoving him back onto the cot before he hit the floor. 

“Dean?”

He didn’t respond to his name, his head rolling against the pillow. Bobby adjusted his cap, weighing what Dean didn’t want against what he needed. 

He scowled as he grabbed the IV kit from the small table. He pulled the bag of IV fluids from his jacket pocket and glanced over at Dean, hoping that his phone call with Alice and Marty was going to pay off. He grabbed the set of soft restraints from an Army trunk under the cot and hesitated before sliding them in place. No doubt, Dean was going to hate him…but he would be alive, hopefully. 

Dean didn’t flinch as Bobby slid the needle into place. He left the crimp in the tubing, keeping the fluids from traveling down the line and into Dean. Bobby ignored Sam’s sudden hovering in the doorway as he taped the plastic tubing to Dean’s skin, fortifying the odds against Dean getting hold of it and yanking it out. He rolled Dean onto his side and placed a small pillow behind him, leaving him slightly on one side. 

“Worried he’s going to throw up again?”

Bobby grunted and nodded. “Don’t want him choking if he does.” He pulled the quilt back around Dean and stepped back to check his handiwork. 

“Is that the quilt Dean stole from Alice,” Sam asked curiously. He remembered Dean ignoring his questions about it on the long ride from Tennessee to South Dakota. 

“Yep,” Bobby replied as he motioned upstairs. “Sam, go grab us something to drink. We need to talk about what’s going to happen next.”

Ten minutes later, Bobby and Sam were sitting at the narrow table Bobby had dragged into the room, staring into the bottom of their glasses. Bobby had tried his best to explain the plan, but he could tell Sam wasn’t easily going for it. 

“So, who exactly thought of this plan,” Sam asked. He wasn’t really sure yet if he wanted to be thankful or angry. It was a fine line. 

“I started to wonder about it on the way back…I called Marty. Turns out he’s done something similar in the past for someone who was possessed. He called Alice about it. She called me and we talked it over some,” Bobby explained. 

“And you were going to tell me when? When it killed him,” Sam snapped as he eyed the IV line taped to Dean. He wanted to leap up and yank it loose. “Because I’m guessing that’s a possibility.”

“I’m telling you now, Sam,” Bobby said gruffly. “I haven’t started to run the fluids yet…if you want to say no…I’ll respect that. We can wait.”

“So…how is turning his IV fluids into Holy Water—what exactly are you hoping it’s going to do for him,” Sam demanded. 

“Some of the lore lists Holy Water as being off-putting to Fay—some say as a defense, some say it’s more of an irritant—either way, we’re hoping it’s going to flush out the last of that Fay poison he ingested,” Bobby explained. “You got lucky, you ate such a small piece and threw your guts up…Dean, he ate a fairly small piece, in comparison to what they tried to force him to eat; but this might help burn it out of his system.”

“And the fever? I thought that was burning it out of his system,” Sam said, trying to keep up Bobby. 

“If it is, it’s taking to damn long for my liking. Look, Sam, if we wait for the fever to do the job, he could just as easily die from the fever,” Bobby said firmly as he passed Sam the bottle. “He needs fluids and for this to be over now.”

Sam stared at Dean, eyeing the plastic tubing taped to his arm. “It’s going to hurt like hell, if it works. You know that, right?”

Bobby nodded; a frown on his face. “I do.” 

He slid the prefilled syringe across the table to Sam. “He’s restrained…he can’t yank the lines out…but he doesn’t have to be conscious for it to work so…if you think he needs it, you’ll have it.”

Sam shook his head but slid the syringe into his jacket pocket anyways. “I’ll wait with him.”

Sam listened as Bobby climbed up the creaky steps, a pit in his stomach. He needed to find a way to help Dean. He needed Alice’s books now. He needed to save his brother. He walked across the room and unsnapped the crimp from the line, the clear liquid rushing through the line. He saw back and watched Dean’s face for any sign that he was waking up, praying that he didn’t. 

Upstairs, Bobby tossed his cap on the table and checked his phone again, wondering how long before another phone call came through from Alice. In all honesty, he wanted the help. He couldn’t risk letting Sam rip his shoulder out and Dean could be a handful, even when he wasn’t sick. He hesitated as he dialed the familiar number, grimacing at the sound of her voicemail. 

“Alice? Listen, it’s me, Bobby Singer,” he stated as he glanced at the cellar door. “I’ve been doing research now that we have a name for this… but I think we’re going to need you for some of this. Call me.”

Bobby tossed the phone back on the table just as a pain filled shout came from below. He trudged down the steps and found Sam standing over Dean, quilt in his hand, watching as Dean fought viciously against the restraints, his whole body taut as he arched against the cot. His teeth were bared and bloody; threats and pleads rolling off his tongue. Bobby watched in horrified fascination as a fine mist rose from Dean’s suddenly sweat covered skin, as though something was boiling under his skin. The similarity between Dean’s appearance and that of a Holy Water soaked demon send a shiver down Bobby’s spine. 

He and Sam stood side by side, their eyes glued to the sight before them. Dean’s movements didn’t slow as he fought; unaware of the worried eyes watching him. He was to far gone to notice them, much less understand how this was going to help him. As another howl ripped its way out of Dean’s lungs, Bobby nudged Sam. 

“How long you going to let this go on for,” Bobby spat. “He’s hurting—“

Bobby’s words were cut short by Sam holding up the syringe between them, empty. 

“It’s no use. I already did what I could, Bobby,” Sam said with a grimace. “It didn’t even slow him down any.”

“Balls! What the hell do we do now,” he mumbled, regretting this idea altogether. He stared at Dean, his mouth open in a silent scream as he continued to fight. 

“Nothing to do… we wait, I guess.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So…sorry about this chapter. It’s not everything I wanted, but I’ve had a few crappy days…  
> As for Dean, a few things are going to have to happen and I’m wondering how many of you would like to see Alice reappear in this story. Let me know!


	19. Hell's Angel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone who took the time to review the last chapter! I really appreciate it. I’ve got the winter blues and it’s KILLING me. I’ve also been slogging through this chapter, adding and adding, so this is now the BIGGEST chapter so far. Hope you like it!

Bobby stood at the top of the stairs, his breathe bated as he listened for the sound of Dean’s screaming. The house had fallen silent a few minutes beforehand and Bobby couldn’t help but wonder if he died or finally passed out. He was exhausted, Sam too. 

The night had been a flurry of worry, phone calls, and frustration. From the second the Holy water had mixed in his blood stream, there had been no going back; something that Bobby regretted more than once. They had done everything from debate pulling the bag down to adding another one and if and how to wean it down slowly. Sam decided to finish the first bag, refusing to let Bobby take it down; convinced it was working when Dean had looked at him, panting hard and teeth gritted. Something had passed between them, as with brothers who have spent their whole lives living inside each other’s pockets. Sam knew what Dean wanted, and it wasn’t to quit after everything he had already been put through. 

Once the first bag had finished Dean had gone down hard, unresponsive to the point where Bobby had suggested an ambulance. Sam had adamantly refused, leaving Bobby no choice but to hit Dean sharply with a small dose of adrenaline. It hadn’t been pretty to witness Dean buck against the restraints, blood dripping from a bit lip. Dean passed back out as Sam had hung the second bag, only to come back harshly as the Holy Water burned through him, the mist pouring through his pores. By the end of the second bag, it had lessened but not abated. 

That time, they had waited until Dean had woken on his own an hour later before offering to stop right there and then. Dean had stared at the bag of fluids in Sam’s hand before holding his own arm out, an indifferent look on his face. 

That bag had run out two hours ago; Bobby convinced that Dean needed a break between the bags as much as he and Sam needed a break from the screaming. It had been a long, painful night. 

He listened again for any sound coming from downstairs. Sam had gone down twenty minutes ago to hang the next bag of the stuff. Bobby shook his head in disappointment when he heard Dean cry out again…he wasn’t out of the woods yet. He watched as Sam shuffled to the bottom of the stairs, tiredly climbing them as Dean’s volume carried his agony to their ears. 

“Not over yet?”

Sam shook his head as a sigh of frustration escaped his lips. “I thought for sure it was…took longer for the mist to start this time…I was hoping it was over for him.”

Bobby pointed him toward the couch. “It’s slowing down some at least, that’s progress.”

“I hope so,” Sam said through a large yawn. “He’s going to hate us for this.”

“I’m sure he is, but at least he’ll be alive,” Bobby admitted. “It’s gotta be burning him bad.”

“How many more bags do you think it’ll take?”

Bobby shook his head, trying to calculate the number. “Until the mist has stopped… I have no idea. Now, you get some sleep and I’ll go sit with him for a while; at least until the bag is over and he passes out again.”

Sam shook his head and grabbed a pillow from the couch before heading back downstairs. Bobby headed for the front door, stepping out into the quiet morning. He could see thunderheads, a storm on the horizon. He felt his heart skip a beat as the mailman pulled into his driveway. Bobby was down the steps and waiting impatiently before the rusty Jeep even managed to roll up next to him. Bobby frowned at the ever familiar face; quite frankly, he hated his mailman, a young man with a penchant for curiosity, forever interested in the odd assortment of packages that ended up on Bobby Singer’s porch. 

It wasn’t Bobby’s fault that his book seller liked to use hex marks to ensure his books a safe journey or that some boxes smelled weird; like the ones from Sweetie, a second generation hippie from Canada, who shipped Bobby boxes of heirloom variety herbs. Sometimes Bobby just wished he could order his things from Amazon like everybody else, at least then his mailman might forget to be curious. 

“Morning, Mr. Singer,” the man called out as he rustled through a handful of mail. “I’ve got a package here for you…from Tennessee, if I recall.”

Bobby watched the man dig through the crate on the seat next to him, wishing he could put some sort of mailman deterrents around the place. He watched as the man picked up a box, wrapped in plain brown paper. He could see the edges of what looked like a Ho-Tu charm drawn on the bottom of the box. The man turned it over in his hand, admiring the pattern of dots and lines that made up the Chinese symbol. “Interesting design.”

Bobby didn’t say anything as he turned his attention back to the clouds on the horizon. He wasn’t going to explain Chinese charms or the box to the pesky man. 

The man hefted the box in his hand, running a hand over the return address. “Abraham Graber…Amish, maybe?”

Bobby grunted and held out a hand to take the package. Instead, the mailman handed him a stack of grocery ads, flyers, and envelopes; one hand still firmly attached to the box while he continued to look through the crate. 

“I’m in a hurry this morning,” Bobby ground out, glaring at the mailman. 

“Aren’t we all,” the man said cheerfully as he handed the package to Bobby. “Always a package to be delivered somewhere; though not many as interesting as the ones you get here though. Are you trying to assemble a collection of something?”

Bobby couldn’t help himself; the man was waiting with baited breath. “Yep.” 

Without another word, Bobby turned and headed for the steps.

“Of what,” the persistent man called out. 

Bobby turned slowly, taking a minute to look that way and that as though he was looking for spies. “Barbie dolls…vintage ones, this is the last one I needed to finish my collection.”

The man looked flustered as Bobby walked up the steps, triumphant in knowing that would probably be the last time his mailman pestered him, much less talk to him. 

Bobby looked at the package; it was indeed the one they had been waiting for. He didn’t bother to acknowledge the mailman as he pulled away. The screen door slammed behind him as he hurried to the table, pulling a knife from the drawer to liberate the books from the brown parcel paper Abraham had wrapped around the box of books. He threw everything onto the other end of the table, scanning the note Abraham had included with the books; including firm instructions to not mail them back, that Alice would retrieve them herself. 

He thumbed through the first of the books, it was heavy in his hand. Bound in worn leather and smelling like musty parchment, he was amazed at the block pressed drawings that were scattered throughout the book. Alice hadn’t been kidding him when she had said the books were older than dirt. 

“Those from Alice,” Sam asked, startling him. “I took the IV bag down…I think Dean needs a break.”

Bobby nodded before turning back to the pages before him. “It’s going to take the rest of the day and night to read through these,” he said as he headed to the fridge. Without a word he set a beer in front of Sam before sliding a book across the table to him. “If you can’t sleep, get reading.”

Sam eyed the beer before turning to Bobby. “Not going to give me any crap about drinking and taking pain killers,” he asked with a crooked grin. 

“Not this time,” Bobby said with a shrug. “Just don’t get into the hard stuff. I can’t imagine that this is going to be easy to get through, not when we’re so involved. How’s Dean?”

Sam shook his head lightly before flipping the book open. “He passed out, I figure that’s pretty damn good at least. I’ve got the door shut and locked.”

Bobby nodded his approval before turning back to his own book. 

They spent the day shuffling through pages, making notations on scrap papers littering the table. Every half hour they’d take turns trudging downstairs to check on Dean. Bobby wasn’t happy, neither was Sam. The fever had gone down, yet kept right on trying to come back. Dean went from being lucid to overcome with hallucinations nearly every hour, rambling about banquets and white eyed men. He’d calm down long enough to ask where he was and to tell Sam he didn’t need to hover over him, even as he cast fearful glances around the room. It was a painful cycle for Bobby and Sam to watch. 

It was near dark when Bobby heard the telltale sound of someone pulling into the yard. He glanced at Sam; his upper body slumped on the table, finally having given in to the sleep that kept creeping up on him. He pulled a sawed off shotgun from his hallway bookshelf, loaded with salt rounds, and stood inside the doorway, shadows keeping him out of sight as he watched the visitor. He hadn’t been expecting anyone. 

He was surprised to see a 1953 Indian motorcycle pull to a stop in his yard, a sidecar visible. The rider didn’t turn toward the house as they climbed off the motorcycle; yanking the canvas cover loose from the sidecar exposing duffel bags, a rifle case, and a wooden crate . Braided hair shook loose from the helmet, the last of the evening light catching the auburn hair. Bobby didn’t need to see her face to know it was Alice. No one but her would come unannounced and a day early. 

She grabbed the duffel bag from the sidecar and hefted it over her shoulder before trudging across the yard, her boots heavy on the steps. She smiled somewhat coolly into the dark shadows of the doorway. “Hello, Bobby. You going to shoot me or help me with these bags?”

He swung the door open and stepped outside, knowing she couldn’t come in yet. “You made good time,” he said casually, wondering how she managed it. And if it was really her. 

She shrugged. “Had a good reason, I guess.”

Bobby grunted and held out a silver flask. “You know the drill.”

Alice glanced at her bike, a deep frown on her face. “Singer, you know I can’t be possessed.”

Bobby didn’t respond, only tapping his boot on the wooden porch. “When you find a way to prove that to me, we’ll talk about skipping the formalities. Now drink up.”

Alice frowned in irritation and unscrewed the silver cap, downing the Holy Water, frowning at the slight tingle. It wasn’t anything new, just enough to remind her she wasn’t human; that she hadn’t been in a long time. “Happy now?”

“You want to explain to me how you got here so quick from Florida?”

“I dropped the case I was working on and flew back home. I stripped the plates off the car and left it in long term parking. Hated it anyhow…I packed the bike and hit the road. That good enough,” she challenged, catching his eye with a daring glare. 

“Nope,” he grumbled as he glanced at the setting sun. “I’m not going to ask again. If it was one of us who showed up a day early, you’d be suspicious too.”

Alice crossed her arms over her chest, standing eye to eye with him. “You want my help or not?”

He held his ground under her smoldering gaze. “I’ve got two Winchester’s inside that need help and you’re wasting everyone’s time. You want to keep this going? Or get it over with? I want to know how you got across country that quick.” 

With a glare, Alice dropped her duffel bag on the floor with the loud thud before pulling her leather jacket off and throwing it into Bobby’s arms in a huff. Without a word, she turned her back to Bobby and yanked her gray tee shirt over her head, pulling her braids to one side. Bobby stared at the design on her back. It was a large circle, spanning from one shoulder blade to the other, that contained eight points and a ring of sixteen symbols. He vaguely recognized it as one of the magic circles that only a few dumbass hunters would have dared to ink onto their own skin. Even as he watched, the circles spun under her skin, the symbols moving along with them; as though someone had spun a top that hadn’t yet quit. 

“You want to tell me what possessed you to draw that on yourself,” Bobby asked as he reached to touch it. As his fingers touched the cold ink, the design moved over her skin like ripples in a pond.

She shrugged away from his touch and pulled her shirt back on. “So I could break every speed limit between Tennessee and South Dakota with a guarantee that I’d make it safely while not attracting any unwanted attention.”

“And here I thought nothing could kill you,” he chuckled. “Worried about kissing the pavement, huh?”

“It’s not me I was worried about,” she quipped as she motioned to her bike. “That’s all original. I’m not looking to replace it anytime soon. I wanted to zip through traffic without losing any paint.”

Bobby scowled at her. It was reckless; marking your body with symbols always came with a price. Especially when you did it to protect a motorcycle. It was just like Alice to tempt fate and be flippant about it. 

She grabbed her duffel bag back up and reached for the door. Bobby shook his head slowly, making her drop the bag again with another loud thump. “Bobby, this is going to get old, real quick.”

“Try it then,” he said with a small smirk as he pointed to the door knob. 

Alice reached for it before drawing her hand back, suspicion on her face. “What did you do?”

“Added a few things around the house,” he said slowly, not willing to admit just what he had done to the house. Alice was one of the few non-human beings he would allow into the house, but it didn’t mean she could enter on her own. He wasn’t that stupid. 

Alice turned to him, her eyes anger filled. “You mean to tell me I drove all the way up here to help you and you went and put some sort of anti-Alice hex on your place? This is bullshit, Bobby.” 

Alice grabbed her bag and stomped across the porch. She was down the steps before Bobby whistled and tossed her something small. She caught it and turned it over in her hand; it was a small leather bag covered with writing. 

“What is this? Some sort of hex bag,” Alice asked angrily. 

“It is. And it will allow you to come and go as you please. For now,” Bobby stated. “You value your privacy above all else…so do I. I get that bag back when you leave or else I’ll turn it into a proper hex bag once you’re a mile or two down the road.”

Alice stuffed it into her pocket before climbing the steps once more, pushing past Bobby and into the house. She remembered the layout, having been in Bobby’s house some time ago. She tossed her bag on the floor near the stairs and headed for the kitchen, pausing at the sight of Sam sleeping at the table. 

Bobby followed behind a few paces, watching Alice as she maneuvered though the house with ease yet with the slow pace of someone who expected something to jump out around every corner. He watched as she paused in the kitchen doorway, taking a minute to lean against the doorframe, her arms crossed.

“Guess it’s been a while since you’ve seen the boys,” Bobby commented quietly. 

Alice didn’t take her eyes off of Sam as she nodded. “He’s grown.”

Bobby snorted. “He’s been that big for years, Alice.” 

Alice turned and followed Bobby to his desk. “I meant grown older. He looks like he’s been through the ringer.”

Bobby tossed his cap on the desk. “They both have…the life is hard. They’ve lost a lot of people. John’s death was hard, especially the way he went down…Sam’s demon blood…then Dean went and did his own stint in Hell…They’ve got damn good reasons to look the way they do. They’ve been through a lot on their own.” 

“Is Dean downstairs?”

“He’s been in and out of it all day. Don’t expect much.”

“I’ll be amazed if he has anything to say to me at all,” Alice muttered as she strode across the house and let herself into the cellar. 

\--------------------

Dean woke to the sound of plastic being ripped. He tried opening his eyes and immediately regretted it. In fact, he regretted having regained consciousness at all. He hurt everywhere. Not like the usual ‘ass got kicked by a fugly’ kind of hurt either, this was the kind of hurt where it seemed like every nerve ending was sending a ‘help me, Sammy’ pain signal to his brain. It was the kind of pain that didn’t die down a notch after a minute or two of deep breathing. It was continuous and incredibly akin to awakening from being tortured. He felt his chest seize in panic. He struggled to open his eyes, wanting—no, needing to see that he was still safe. He spotted the panic room’s door and relaxed somewhat... He was still in Bobby’s house. ‘You aren’t in Hell…yet,’ he told himself as his eyes closed in agony, the light overhead far too bright. 

He knew trying to move wasn’t going to help any either. 

“Sa—,” he tried to say, before realizing just how much his throat hurt. It was like fire or barbed wired had torn through it, leaving him raspy and coughing painfully. “Sam—“

He felt a hand on his brow and calmed down. It had to Sam or Bobby. Either way, he wasn’t alone and that was what he wanted to know…that he was still safe. 

He felt the hands gently move his arm and tuck the quilt back around him. The small motion made him hiss in pain, his muscles were stiff. He could feel someone inspecting the IV in his arm, he knew what his arm being turned this way and that meant. He had done it to Sam over the years. Someone was looking to start something…another bag of Holy Water maybe…

He painfully pulled his arm away; it limply fell to his chest. “No….,” he choked out. 

He heard a sigh, definitely not from Bobby or Sam. A feminine sigh. 

He forced his eyes open, wincing as he tried to squint through the too bright lights. He glimpsed a flash of red hair and fiery eyes before closing his eyes again. He struggled to open them again. He flinched, startled to see her face inches from his own; her mouth in a tight, worried frown and her eyes burning like hot coals. Without a thought he let a disapproving sigh slip out. 

“Happy to see you too,” Alice said sarcastically as she laid a hand on his fevered forehead. “Now I see where my quilt ran off to.”

She watched in mild amusement as Dean gripped the edge of the quilt in his hand, his knuckles turning white. She knew the pain he was in and understood what this small gesture of ‘mine’ had cost him. 

“I didn’t drive cross country to kick your ass over a quilt,” she said as she sat back down on the other cot, picking up the IV bag she had prepared. “Its fine, Dean, nice to see it getting use anyhow. Goodness knows you’re one of the few people who’ve ever used it.”

She watched out of the corner of her eye as Dean’s grip on the quilt lessened slightly, but only slightly. Dean watched her, fighting the bright light overhead until Alice got up and turned it off, leaving the room to be lit by the small lamp on the table. She moved back to Dean and pulled her own cot closer before sitting down. “You hurting?”

Dean rolled his eyes, knowing the pain that would come with answering the question. He rubbed at his eyes, his vision still not back to normal. He knew Alice wasn’t human, but he didn’t remember the brightness in her eyes. Must be the Fay poison still at work. 

Alice rattled a pill bottle in one hand. “This bad? Or, this bad,” she asked as she held up a syringe. She knew getting Dean to swallow anything had been impossible for Bobby and Sam, and that had been before he had spent hours painfully screaming his lungs out. It would be a miracle if he could speak more than a word or two without completely losing his voice. 

Dean shook his head lightly, frowning at the pain that seared through his neck. He didn’t want either one. He wanted away from the nightmares as much as he wanted to be away from the pain. At least pain kept him grounded. The nightmares were impossible to escape. They made it hard to know reality from the near identical horror filled versions that snuck up on while he was somewhere between awake and asleep. 

“You’re hurting, Dean. Anyone can see that. You want to just grin and bear it when you don’t have to,” Alice said, frustrated. “Just like your dad…”

She caught the words as they tumbled out of her mouth. Dean was staring at her, his expression un-readable. She thought maybe she could see hate in his eyes. Or maybe sadness; John’s boys could be so hard to read sometimes. Like he had been. 

“You need anything,” she asked, changing the topic away from John. “Something to eat, maybe?”

Dean shook his head and began the painful task of rolling over with the limited range he had. Bobby hadn’t removed the restraints yet. He didn’t get very far before he gave up, indignant frustration on his face. 

Alice stared at Dean, one eyebrow raised slightly. She remembered the difficulties Dean had overcome with his appetite after his possession by a Wendigo spirit. “Bobby tells me you wouldn’t eat earlier either.”

His eyes trailed to the syringe on the cot, wondering if maybe he could just sleep. He didn’t want to deal with her questions or theories. If they wouldn’t let him join the fight, he’s just sleep until it was over. Why had Sam let her down here? He knew Dean didn’t want her help in the first place and now he had just abandoned him to her poking and prodding. 

“I know what the problem is,” Alice said quietly. “I know the lore. It’s been a while since I’ve been through it, but I remember it pretty damn well. And if I’m right, then I’d almost have to guess that you’re not quite sure yet who is real and who isn’t. You’re heads probably clearing up some, but not all the way. Am I right?”

Dean froze at her words. In his bouts of consciousness he fought to recall being rescued and the drive to Bobby’s. But around the edges of his vision there were tall figures, circling him. He couldn’t tell if they were really there. 

“I thought so. See, some of the lore recalls that the simple act of eating Fay food is what allowed the Fay to keep a human for eternity. It was easy…a banquet maybe, anything to tempt a human into eating something that would damn them forever,” Alice explained as she watched Dean. She could see he was trying his damnedest to follow along. 

Dean was having a hard time keeping up with her words as the fever boiling under his skin again. Dean didn’t say anything, but looked up at her, relaxing against the cot as another heat wave hit him. There was nothing to do but wait it out. Or die. Waiting seemed like less of an effort. 

“You’re not as dumb as all that…Bobby said you’ve been ranting about men being tied up, probably other Teinds. I’m going to guess you figured it out and fought off whatever they kept offering you,” Alice said, her eyes boring a hole through him. “But you ate a bite, didn’t you? Back at the cabin in Virginia.”

Dean nodded slowly, uncertainly boiling up in his chest. 

Alice sighed and shook her head. She knew what Bobby had said, that it had been unmistakable. “I’m amazed that girl was able to keep you from going with them then. Now we know it messed with your head. Bobby said you were calling out to people that weren’t really there. Might be the cause of this fever of yours too...”

Dean tried to keep up with the words tumbling out of her mouth, wondering if she had a point or was just musing aloud what everyone already knew. 

“So, I’m guessing that while most of you is convinced that this is real and we are really ‘us’ that maybe deep down, some part of you thinks one us will give you the magic pastry that will send your ass back to fairy land. Am I right?”

Dean frowned and closed his eyes, his fists clenched, held tightly by the restraint. She was right. But that didn’t help him any. He couldn’t risk trusting the wrong face; he couldn’t let himself be taken. He needed to be off the cot, the needle out of his arm, and his vision back. He needed to know what was real and what wasn’t; he couldn’t make it so easy to be taken again. Like a lamb to the slaughter. He couldn’t risk it. He couldn’t risk making a mistake. Even with his fever, he could hang onto that truth. 

She squeezed his hand as she started talking again. She glanced at his closed eyes before turning her free hand and eyes to her work. She knew what she was about to do was cruel. But sometimes what had to be done was cruel. And better she do it to him than Sam. 

“Dean,” Alice said as she slipped the bag in place, connecting the IV lines. “Once this is over, the fever, the hallucinations, all of it…you’ll know what’s real again. You’ve to trust that we’re doing what we can to help you….”

Dean didn’t moved until he felt the familiar burn travel up his arm. His eyes flew open and he tugged violently on the restraints. Alice watched him, an apologetic look on her face. She didn’t miss the hate in his eyes as he threw his head back in a voiceless scream as the sensation of burning from the inside out overtook him. 

She sat on the edge of the cot and watched until the mist finally dissipated, nearly halfway through the bag. She sat until long after he passed out, her jaw set tightly as considered what Dean would have to say to her later. Obviously, he was already mad at her….this wasn’t going to help out any either. She pulled the restraints loose before covering him with the quilt. He didn’t stir when she ruffled his hair or when the large metal door creaked shut behind her. 

\---------

“This is impossible,” Sam mumbled as he ran a hand over his face. He had finally woken and had an imprint of the book cover across his cheek. He had gone back to staring at the print, getting frustrated by the tedious job of deciphering the overly done calligraphy. 

Bobby grunted in agreement as he grabbed another book. “This old scrawl is a pain in the ass. Antiquated jargon. You’d think these guys were getting paid by the word.”

Bobby watched as Alice stormed into the kitchen, a look of loathe on her face as she thump the wooden crate down on the far end of the table. He knew something downstairs had gotten to her, she looked like she had when she had seen Sam, only more angry. She went right to prying the top off the crate, ignoring the bewildered look on Sam’s face. 

“Alice,” he asked. It had been awhile since he’d seen her and while she looked nearly the same, he was surprised to find her in Bobby’s kitchen. He glanced over at Bobby, confusion on his face. “How long was I asleep for?”

Bobby chuckled and shook his head. “She got here a little before we expected.”

“Hello Sam,” she muttered as Bobby slid a hammer across the table to her. 

Sam stared at her, amazed how she still looked the same. In fact, it looked like he and Dean had finally caught up with her in age; not that it would ever be accurate. Alice would look her age until the world ended or she got tired of it and put herself down. 

“Dean still acting like a Holy Water humidifier down there,” Bobby asked, glancing at the clock. She had been down there a good long while. 

Sam snorted and shook his head at the description; it was damn accurate. 

“Dean’s still got half a bag of Holy Water left, but the mist stopped a little bit ago,” she announced as she grabbed the hammer and continued to pry at the firmly attached lid on the crate.

“Well that’s good news at least,” Sam said as he slumped in his chair. “Was he talking?”

Alice tilted her head from side to side. “Somewhat. More like angry glaring and some negative body language. He seemed a little bit pissed off to find me standing over him…” 

Neither Sam nor Bobby spoke, Dean’s earlier words rattling around their heads. He wasn’t going to be happy when he woke up to find Alice still in the house. Sam knew Dean had been irritated by the mere mention of her after she had dropped out of sight when John had died. Honestly, Sam had been relieved to not have to discuss it with anyone, especially not someone who had such a strained history with their dad. 

“Pain in the ass,” she muttered as the top finally broke loose on the box. “Finding anything helpful in the books yet?”

Sam sighed and glanced back down at the page he was paused at. “Some. Most of these accountings vary greatly. Some of them make the Fay out to be mischievous but fairly harmless. Others list them as malicious and downright murderous.”

She nodded absentmindedly. “That’s the difference between the two courts.”

“Two courts?”

She yanked open the fridge and after a small glance at Bobby, grabbed one of the beers that stood inside. “Maybe I should save you two some reading,” she mumbled as she sat across the table from Sam and Bobby. “There are two courts, the Seelie which is fairly harmless. They help out humans from time to time, keep them from getting lost, livestock from getting sick, that sort of thing. They tend to like humans for the most part, some lore even account for them keeping tabs on certain humans and helping them along with their lives…They act as a guardian in some cases. It’s where the stories about guardian angels came from. They’re really not angels, they’re Fay. When’s the last time an angel got off their ass to hold someone’s hand?”

Sam looked up at her, hearing a little amusement in her voice. 

“Anyhow, now the Unseelie court is the one to watch out for. They’re malicious little assholes who lead people into bogs or other unescapable places. They make people and animals sick. Now, some of them are just annoying; they do things like knot your hair or sheets while you’re sleeping, spoil food, and make you lose things. But all in all, the Unseelie court tends to be murderous and vicious. The two courts divided down the middle over several fundamental principles, honor mostly.”

Bobby and Sam sat silent, listening to her. 

“Now, both have been known to steal humans. The Seelie court takes them for pets, lovers, or sometimes as a way to improve their own bloodlines. They like them pretty, or handsome in those cases.”

Bobby didn’t miss the tone in her voice. “You think they want Dean for that?”

“It could be that the Seelie court spotted him first. But all in all, I think the Unseelie court is one that has been trying to take him…the Unseelie court at times have stolen those desired by the Seelie court. Maybe because they feel that the more desirable human will make a better payment.”

“Which court uses changelings,” Sam asked. 

“Both, from time to time. They replace human children with their own; for two reasons. One, so their own offspring will likely survive. Two, because they have a penchant for stealing pretty things, like babies which they’ll raise to be servants. In cases where they take an adult and replace it—“

“Wait! I thought only children got switched with changelings,” Sam interjected. 

Alice shook her head. “They don’t leave a ‘living’ double when they steal an adult. They leave a living, yet sickly and usually dying, Fay in its place. The family takes care of it until it dies. It’s the perfect cover. The family loses someone and buries them; not even knowing their own family member is still out there somewhere. Other times, they leave a life sized wooden doll, looks like the real thing too.”

“A doll,” Bobby asked, not sure he heard her right.

She nodded. “Whatever befalls the doll, your loved one suffers. It inspires people to take damned good care of it too…People end up unable to go after their lost family due to the heavy burden caused by the doll.”

They sat silent, letting the information sink in. It was a lot to take in at once; and Sam knew it wasn’t everything. 

Sam finally broke the silence. “What’s the deal with the tithing? I don’t see the link.”

“Now that’s where the real trouble begins,” Alice said as she sat back in her chair, twisting the bottle in her hand. “You know how the Fay came to be?”

“Not really,” Sam admitted. “Figured it was just another one of Eve’s creations.”

“Not at all, actually,” Alice explained; her face turned in a hard set frown. “Now keep in mind, this is just based on the most prevalent lore from the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries. A bunch of dusty diaries full of possessions, Fay encounters, and some first-hand accounts of changeling being traded.” 

Bobby cast a glance up at Alice, wondering how on earth she gotten her hands on those manuscripts. 

“They used to be angels,” Alice said with a shrug. 

“You’re kidding,” Sam said. 

“Nope. Apparently, back in the day, when God got his panties in a twist over Lucifer’s behavior he slammed Heaven and Hell shut. Those in Heaven stayed on as angels. Those who were in Hell, or otherwise sniffing around Lucifer, where forever cast away from God, becoming some of the first and most powerful demons; some claim that demons with true names were actually mutilated angels. None being as powerful as Lucifer, since he did what it took to ensure that he would remain on top… clipped some wings, you might say.”

“So where do the Fay come in?”

“Those were the angels that were caught between the gates. They were on Earth and didn’t return to Heaven fast enough for God’s liking. They were the group that wanted peace throughout, swearing allegiance to neither side. They were the middle and have been ever since. They’re motives aren’t aligned with Heaven’s any longer, haven’t been for ages. But ruling over the earth under Lucifer wasn’t their desire either. Over the years, their blood has become diluted with humans and they’ve become what they are today, but they’re still a powerful force to be reckoned with.”

Sam leaned forward and pulled a book from the stack, remembering some passage he had read earlier. “So if they don’t owe Lucifer anything, why are they tithing to him?”

“That part is somewhat sketchy. Some of lore states they created a pack with Lucifer to keep the first demons from hunting them down and slaughtering them, after it became apparent that God wasn’t coming back for them. Human souls traded every seven years for being overlooked by their own brothers in arms. That’s the version I found the most.”

“What’s the other,” Bobby asked. Forewarned was forearmed, after all.

“One says that the Seelie court doesn’t tithe at all; that only the Unseelie do, kind of like paying Lucifer a percentage for all the havoc they cause. Some other lore suggests it’s because Fay offspring have no souls. They tithe to Hell so that when their mixed blooded descendants die, Hell will refuse them at the gate. That way they’ll end up in Purgatory.”

“Why would they want that?”

“Better to roam Purgatory where you can wait for Heaven and Hell to fight over you than end up right in Hell with no escape,” Alice mused as she finished her beer. “I have no clue, Bobby. I’m not an expert at this shit.”

Sam scoffed lightly. “So far, you’re the closest thing we’ve got.”

“So what’s the plan,” Alice asked. “Want to ring up Crowley and ask him what his part in all this is?”

“You said on the phone that he wouldn’t know who’s coming his way until the Fay actually pay the tithe, right,” Bobby asked. 

Alice nodded. “According to the lore, the Fay have all the say in who they send. Except in special cases.”

Sam groaned. There was always a catch. “And what would be a special case?”

“Depends if you believe this story at all,” Alice said. “Supposedly, if the Fay can’t fulfill their tithe quota, then someone, I’m not sure if it would be Lucifer or Crowley or some other Hell delegate, gets to choose a Fay to fill the slot. Usually, a beautiful Fay would be chosen to take the place. Something to sweeten the pot, it’s not often they get a live Fay in Hell. I can’t imagine the Fay like to see their own in Hell. Who would?”

“Might be why they’re trying to get Dean back so badly,” Bobby muttered. “Just what they need… someone to finish their quota.”

“Not to sound like a total jerk, but why wouldn’t they just pick someone else? We’ve made Dean pretty hard to get to—I mean, Bobby even killed one of them, so why not just choose some other guy,” Sam asked. 

Alice shrugged. “Does that really matter? We would have no way of knowing if that happens. We can’t keep him in there forever. If they come for him again, and they probably will, we’ll need to have a plan. But more than that, we need a guarantee he’s not Hell bound. Not like this, anyhow.”

Bobby and Sam sat silently for a while, eyes falling to the pages in front of them, not a word being read. They were each to busy pondering Alice’s information. The house remained quiet until Sam caught himself staring at the crate on the table. 

“Alice, what’s in the crate?”

She didn’t glance up from the book she was reading. “Stuff,” she said plainly as she flipped the page. 

Sam bit back a small smile. Alice’s coarse personality always made him think of Dean. 

“What kind of stuff,” he asked without looking at her. 

“Things,” she replied as she slid her empty glass across the table. “Who wants to make dinner? I want to check on Dean.”

Bobby sighed and got up. “I wouldn’t mind a break from this for a few minutes. I’ll make something.”

Sam was left to stare at the crate while Bobby rustled through the fridge. 

Alice climbed down the flight of wooden steps, wondering if Dean would react to her in a better state of mind. As she stepped down and turned toward the metal door across the room, she paused. The door was open. From where she stood, she could see the cot was empty. 

“Shit,” she muttered as she glanced around the cellar, looking for Dean. She hadn’t expected him to be up so soon, much less mobile. There were only few places large enough to hide him. She knew Dean hadn’t come upstairs, so he was had to be down there somewhere. Unless he had been taken again. 

She finally headed for the doorway, hoping Dean was still inside the iron room. She was halfway in the door when something hard struck her across the face. Blinded by the sudden pain that flared across her face, she was forced to take a step back; with a string of curses she brought a hand to her bloody nose, watched as Dean stepped into view. He looked like he was barely standing, his stance wide for balance as he swayed slightly on his feet. 

“Bitch,” he rasped out, his voice barely audible. 

“Nice to see you up, Dean,” she snapped as she wiped blood from her nose. She had known he would be pissed at her, hell—she would have been pissed at him if he had done the same thing—but all in all, she wasn’t sorry that he was up and moving around, only that the Holy Water had hurt him so badly. “Lesson learned, never untie a Winchester…Damn it, Dean…you broke my nose.”

He turned to the door, shuffling towards it. Alice didn’t say anything until he got to it. 

“Not a good idea, Dean,” she said firmly, as she wiped blood from her face. “You set one foot out that door and I’ll break both your legs. You’re not going anywhere.”

Dean leaned against the doorframe, knowing that when Alice made a threat, she tended to keep it. He remembered some of what she had said earlier, not every word, but enough to know he was tempting fate by leaving. But he wanted out. 

“Sammy…,” he tried calling out before trying to clear his throat. His voice was all but gone, only a pathetic whisper coming out; so much for calling out for help if he needed it. “Sam!” 

“Stop it, Dean. You need to give your throat a chance to heal up, don’t keep making it worse,” she snapped as she grabbed a towel from the table of supplies and held it to her nose. “Sam will be down in a minute most likely.” 

Dean turned and frowned at her before staring out of the open door. 

Alice pointed to the cot. “Now, if you want that line out of your arm, I’d be happy to yank it out for you. Then you can get some sleep.”

Dean gave her look of indignation before moving to the cot. He was exhausted but he wanted to talk to Sam. He wanted to know what he had missed. 

Alice sat down across from him and stared at him; he had aged as well, and like Sam he looked like someone who had been through too much. She felt the familiar pain in her chest; a reminder that everyone around her aged. Everyone would grow old and die. Except her. The boys were just another generation that she would watch, love, and let go. She realized Dean was staring back at her; a questioning look on his face. 

She moved the sink, silently kicking her own ass for letting it get to her. She was here for a job; to help one of John’s boys, again. 

“How long,” he rasped out as he sat down. 

“Since you guys got here,” she asked as she washed her hands in the narrow sink in the corner. “About two days, probably. I got here a few hours ago. Now hold still.”

Sam wandered down the steps, hoping Dean was awake. He paused in the doorway of the panic room, a small smile working its way onto his face. Alice and Dean were sitting on the cots, face to face, heads dipped down as Alice worked. He could see Dean fighting to stay awake, his eyes glued to Alice’s hands as they pulled the line loose and began removing the tape that Bobby had laced up his arm to keep Dean from tearing it out. 

Sam could tell from their stiff body language that something negative had already transpired between them. He cleared his throat; Alice looking up at him. He noticed her bloody nose right away, knowing it must be in part related to their stiff behavior. 

“You two need anything,” he asked, knowing he couldn’t do much with his shoulder still in shambles. 

“Bobby have dinner ready yet,” Alice asked as she picked up everything around Dean. 

“In a few minutes, yeah,” he replied as Alice walked out of the room, not saying another word as she passed him, bloody towel in her hand. 

He moved to the cot and sat down in front of Dean. “What was that about,” he asked Dean.

“What..,” Dean croaked defensively, trying not to cough. 

Sam rolled his eyes and pointed his own nose. “Alice’s bloody nose. What the hell, Dean? She’s here to help us and you haul off and hit her?”

He waited for a response, but was answered by the sound of Dean snoring lightly. Sam watched Dean, sitting up, sound asleep. 

“Just great,” Sam muttered as he ran a hand over his face. “Right back to their old ways…this is going to be fun…”

Manhattan, Kansas 

He usually avoided Kansas, except for this one particular place. The Chef restaurant was an unusual stop on his list; although not because of its incredible menu, but because of its staff. He tended to avoid Fay when possible. They were fast and cunning, even more so than him. When the Fay put their mind to something, they did it well, especially when it came to corned beef hash, so he wasn’t horribly distraught over his business stop. He walked past the long line of waiting people, ignoring the looks of unfairness he received. He didn’t care much for waiting. 

He walked into the kitchen and observed the array of colorful dishes going past before heading for the door to the large walk-in freezer. He caught the eye of the chef, a tall man with the cheekbones and gracefulness to imply his status as a first generation Fay; he gave Crowley a curt nod before leaving his place on the line. Crowley stepped aside as the man opened the door to the refrigerated room; motioning for Crowley to enter. 

Crowley had seen Fay magic before and this was no more special than the last time he had dropped by to inspect a Hell bound delivery. Cold air surrounded them for a second as the door shut behind them, sending them into pitch blackness. A second later, a light appeared in front of them. He motioned for Crowley to step into the light. 

Crowley stepped through it, scowling as he stepped into mud. He hated the Unseelie and their perpetual habit of living in wet marshy places. The one good thing about them was that they did tend to make timely payments. The tithe was the one thing that brought the Unseelie and Seelie together, an ancient contract that demanded participation by both parties. It didn’t mean they themselves would mingle together. Only combine their culled collections and pay to resume their hatred for each other. 

“Come,” a Fay said; its voice gravelly and wet. 

Crowley was taken back at the physical differences between the Fays. Unlike the man standing behind him, this Fay was taller, lankier, and its skin was a sickly gray color. Obviously, he was Unseelie to the core. 

It wasn’t often that Crowley had to inspect the Fay tithe. In fact, in the many years that he had stood by and collected the payment, he had only inspected two collective groups of men to be tithed. Not because it mattered, these were simply old fashioned contracts carried out by tradition, and he was unable to alter the contract. Some red tape was just too red to cut through. 

“Where are they,” Crowley asked as he looked about the place. Small filth covered huts dotted the clearing where they stood, a thick forest surrounding them. 

“There,” the Fay ground out, pointing to the largest hut. Crowley walked through the mud as carefully as possible, reminding himself to never wear Armani to the Fay grounds again. Such a waste of a fine cut suit. 

Crowley stepped through the door and gazed around the poorly lit hut. The smell was overwhelming. He frowned at the Fay standing behind him. “You’re going to have to clean them up. Hell might be the wastebasket of the universe, but we’ve got some standards when it comes to standing payments.”

The Fay growled lightly, but lowered its head somewhat. They all knew Crowley could make demands, especially considering their missing Teind. 

“They all here? Every last one accounted for,” Crowley asked, spotting an empty cot, one in the far corner. It was high in the eave, rainwater dripping onto it. 

“All but one,” the Fay said, its gravelly voice making it hard to understand. 

Crowley’s smile was chilling. “Perfect.”

He left the hut and headed back to the large slab of stone that stood in the center of the clearing, the first Fay standing next to it. He looked deadly and ethereal, in close resemblance to his angelic ancestry. Without a word, he stepped through the stone and disappeared; Crowley a step behind. 

As they moved through the freezer door and back into the busy kitchen, silence overtook the room. Every wait and kitchen staff was standing frozen, their skin nearly glowing as they stared at Crowley. He adjusted his suit jacket and smiled coyly.

“So…, your payment is due in a few days…and you’re a man short,” Crowley said, trying to vaguely hide his pleasure as he thought back to the contract’s fine print. “I don’t expect I have to remind you of what that could mean for any one of you. You’d be coming with me, down to Hell for a long visit…”

“We will find him,” the first Fay stated, his voice loud and booming. 

Crowley turned and looked at him. “You sound confident for a Fay that had seven years to get my order put together. How does a Fay lose its prey? “

“The marker was burned off of his flesh,” the Fay stated. “But we will find him.”

“Well, don’t worry about me,” Crowley said with a smile. “I’d be just as happy to take a first generation Fay down for a little chat. Always wondered what it would take to replicate Lucifer’s handiwork…I could have my own first demon…I hear getting the loyalty to take just right, is a real pain.”

He smirked as he glanced around the room at the faces watching him. “You want to avoid a long walk by my side; you’ll find your marked man and get him into that shack…Now, who’s up for a little corned beef hash?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So…I hope the lore in this chapter didn’t just make your brain explode. I couldn’t leave any of it out cause it’s sooooo good! I love research. Bobby is my hero. I did tweak a few parts of it, so if you go looking for sources, let me know and I’ll tell you where you’re wasting your time.   
> So, any thoughts on Alice? On Dean situation?  
> Anyone want to see Dean go South for a little vacation? Bwahahhahaaaa!!!


	20. Sleeping Beauty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I feel I owe big BIG apologies. I didn’t lose interest or my way, or become bored with this story. My hardcore winter blues coincided with some near manic spring fever. I have been productive but not in fanfic. I have kicked ass editing part of my novel. I hosted a writing event at home. I cleaned. I read. I made things. I de-stressed. I recharged. Which I greatly needed. Thanks for bearing with me. 
> 
> Also, you can actually get updates on how my writing is going and get encouragement on your own writing by following me on tumblr. My blog is MisAdventures in Writing. My name is wifey-mcwiferson. (there is a dash) I’m new at Tumblr…..so come find me! I want to know my readers and fellow writers, and that is as close as it gets!

Sam woke to the sound of someone flipping pages, a slow and methodical sound that slowly pulled him from sleep. He spotted Bobby and Alice sitting around the desk, Bobby with his hat pulled low and a tall stack of books on either side of him. Alice sat in a chair, her boots on the edge of Bobby’s desk, the chair tipped precariously on its back legs. She didn’t look up at him, her eyes flitting over the antiquated text with ease. From his place on the couch, Sam didn’t miss the beginnings of sunrise in the windows or the empty glasses that sat between Bobby and Alice, the smell of stale whiskey in the air. It had been a long night for everyone. 

Sam sat up slowly, swinging his feet onto the floor with a deep sigh. He ran a tired hand through his hair before pulling himself to his feet. “Morning.”

“Mornin’ Sam,” Bobby said without looking away from the opened book on his desk. “Coffee’s on the stove, breakfast is in the oven.”

“I’ll go check on Dean first,” Sam muttered as he headed across the room. 

“Don’t bother,” Alice said as with a yawn. “I was just down there a few minutes ago. He’s sound asleep.”

Sam nodded slowly before heading upstairs for a shower. He didn’t know when he had fallen asleep, but it certainly hadn’t been on the couch. The last thing he remembered was staring at a written page, the words blurring as he tried to stay awake. After a quick shower he headed down to check on Dean, determined to lay eyes on his brother. He eased the door open, frowning at the squeak that cut through the air. 

Dean lay on the cot farthest from the door, his face toward him. Sam frowned when Dean didn’t move at the sound of the noisy door. There was a time when any noise had made the eldest Winchester bolt out of bed, knife in hand, alert and ready to fight. Today was not that day. 

Sam sat on the cot across from him and surveyed Dean. Exhaustion still lined his face, bruises standing out on his pale skin. He was cool to the touch; Sam letting out a sigh of relief once he laid a hand on Dean’s forehead. It had taken longer than anyone had wagered, but the fever was finally gone. The deep set frown on Dean’s face and the low murmuring that slipped through his lips wasn’t missed by Sam. He knew Dean had nightmares—Hell, they all had nightmares. It came with the territory. But Dean had more reason than most and Sam knew it. Years of feeling pushed by their father, of feeling not good enough, of being the peace keeper had left marks; damage that ran through the center of the man. 

Hell had only given him more to hide; more nightmares, more fear, more insecurities…more everything. And now he faced going back. Sam knew Dean wasn’t handling it well, Hell—he was terrified of Dean going back. They had to find a way to stop him from being taken. 

Sam’s thoughts were interrupted by a startled jolt from Dean; Sam expected him to wake up but instead saw that Dean was sound asleep. Another nightmare…the soft whisper of Latin reaching his ears; he could make out a few words of an exorcism rite. He laid a hand on Dean’s shoulder and gave a gentle nudge. Dean jolted at the touch, his eyes flying open as he sat up, his arms in a defensive position. 

“Dean, it’s okay, man. You were having a nightmare.”

Dean shook his head, rubbing his eyes. Sam knew he’d downplay it, it was Dean’s way. Always had been and to be honest, the day that Dean didn’t try to shrug off his fear would be the day Sam knew something was seriously wrong. 

“Must have just dozed off,” Dean muttered as he glanced at Sam. They sat in silence, surveying each other’s damage. 

“How’s your shoulder,” Dean asked, eyeing Sam’s sling. “Taking your antibiotics?”

Sam rolled his eyes. “It’s fine and yes.”

“Good,” Dean said, ignoring the look from Sam. “Any chance I’m getting out of here soon?”

Sam shrugged. “No idea. Alice gave us the rundown on the lore but we’re still going to pour over the books, maybe find some fine print we can use. We’ve gotten through most of the lore by dividing it up but it’s all not an easy read. There’s a lot of conflicting information.”

Dean nodded slowly. “She’s still here, huh?”

“Yeah…good news though…she thinks she can get you out of here for a short while, maybe a short lived spell or something…you can grab a shower then at least. She’s out getting some things for you now,” Sam explained. “You okay with her?”

“So she’s got a plan then,” Dean muttered, ignoring Sam’s question as he stumbled from the cot to the small sink in the corner. He didn’t wait for Sam to answer him as he plunged his hands into the cold water, splashing it upon his face. He was going stir crazy. 

“We have a few ideas,” Sam commented noncommittally. He wasn’t about to get Dean’s hopes up when they were only just starting to argue out a plan. 

“Good,” Dean said under his breathe. 

They both jumped as a door slammed loudly overhead. Sam stepped out of the panic room and listened at the bottom of the stairs. He could hear Alice upstairs, her voice loud and angry. He called out to Dean, “I’ll go see what’s happened!”

He stepped into the kitchen to find Alice angrily sorting out small paper packages on the table. Each package thumped loudly on the table as she slammed them down. He recognized the look on her face; it was same angry, determined look he had encountered the last time Dean had needed saving. Only, the last time she had been determined that Dean couldn’t be saved; that she or Sam would have to put him down. A shiver ran down his spine as he realized how glad he was that she was on their side this time. 

“Alice—“

“Don’t,” Alice snapped, her eyes glued to the packages before her.

“Umm…Anything I can help—“

Bobby stepped into the doorway, Alice’s back to him. He waved at Sam before gesturing wildly to the other room, pausing only when Alice turned and look at him. She crossed her arms and waited; a murderous look on her face. 

Bobby froze and dropped his arms to his sides before adjusting his cap. “Sam, get in here.”

One look from Alice sent Sam scurrying after Bobby. They stood silent until the loud racket resumed in the kitchen. “What happened,” Sam asked as he glanced back toward Alice. 

“She went into town…couldn’t find everything she needed...said the woman at the shop gave her a hard time about what she asked for. She’s been through my supplies but it’s not stuff I keep around,” Bobby said with a shrug. “She’s a little ticked off, if you didn’t the message.”

“What does she need,” Sam asked, peering around the doorway. He couldn’t imagine what they needed that had sent Alice into such an angry fit. 

“Nettles, for a start.”

“Nettles? …You mean those plants that sting you the second you touch them,” Sam asked. He didn’t want to image why they would need them. 

Bobby nodded solemnly. “One in the same. Supposedly, they help to keep Fay away.”

“So we leave them all over the house?”

Bobby shook his head, a grimace on his face. “We can do that too. But it’s not quite that simple. The afflicted person gets to have them swatted all over their skin to help keep the Fay away.”

Sam frowned, his eyes narrowing. “That’s a new level of pain in the ass, even for us. There’s got to be other ways, right?”

“There are plenty to choose from,” Alice said, stepping into the doorway. “But we’re going to use them all until we have a concrete plan to negotiate Dean’s participation with the Fay. We’ll need to use everything we have available. Nettles included.”

“So where do we find nettles,” Sam asked with a sigh. Dean was going to love this.

Alice shrugged. “We can try the woods, might find a few stragglers. We can also call around a few places; someone might have some in their garden.”

“Who would be growing nettles on purpose,” Sam scoffed. 

“Lots of people,” Alice snapped. “People who fear the Fay, people who have a garden full of weeds, witches, horticulturists, just to name a few.”

“Oh,” Sam mumbled. “Well, let me get the keys.”

“You can’t drive, Sam. Bobby already filled me in on your blood loss from your home surgery in Virginia. Besides, you need the sling for your arm. You don’t have full range to steer. I’m driving.”

“Alice, I can—“

“Shut and get the keys, Sam.”

Fifteen minutes later, Sam was clutching the passenger side of the Impala, one hand firmly braced against the dash as the car fishtailed out of the yard and onto the road. He glanced at Alice; it had been awhile since he had seen her smile, apparently all it took was a joyride in the Impala. 

“Just don’t tell Dean,” Sam said nervously. Dean would kill him but Alice had beaten him to the car and threatened to cram him into the sidecar of her Indian motorcycle unless he gave her the keys.

“I won’t,” she said, putting him at ease. “He already broke my nose…I’m not looking for an ass kicking.”

“He’d probably kill us both,” Sam mused. “But only after he checked the Impala over to make sure we hadn’t actually hurt her.”

A few miles outside of town, Alice pulled onto the side of an overgrown dirt road and killed the engine. A large wooded area surrounded them, road noise far off in the distance. Sam climbed out the car and caught a pair of gloves Alice tossed him. “Don’t let the nettles touch you,” she reminded him as they headed out into the woods. “There’s a large clearing a few hundred feet ahead, we’ll look there first.”

Sam followed her through the woods, wishing his arm was free from the sling as he traversed the uneven ground. He was torn between enjoying the outdoors, away from the stale air of the panic room, and panicking over finding the plant they needed and getting back to Dean. He watched as Alice stopped at several large plants along the way, each time frowning and shaking her head before moving on. 

“Not it,” he asked. 

“Nope,” she said with a firm shake of her head. 

He followed silently before remembering Dean’s argument about involving Alice in his problem. “Alice?”

“Uh-huh,” she replied, distracted by another plant. 

“Why did you call us back…about Dean, I mean,” he said, stumbling over his words. 

She glanced back over her shoulder at him, a surprised look on her face. “Because I had information Bobby needed. Why?”

Sam shrugged and shook his head, wishing he hadn’t said anything in the first place. 

Alice turned and went back to inspecting plants. “Why did you ask, Sam,” she said, not looking at him.

“You—you didn’t call anyone back last time,” Sam said. 

Alice faltered as she rose from the plant she was inspecting. “That’s what this is about…so who exactly is bellyaching about this? You, Bobby, or Dean?”

Sam was taken back at the anger in her voice. “Dean was surprised when we told him that you had called Bobby.”

“Surprised or angry,” she asked, although it was hardly a question. Her broken nose was a testament to Dean’s current feelings toward her. 

Sam shook his head. He should have kept his mouth shut. “He tried calling you when Dad—“

“This is about John,” Alice said, interrupting him. Sam noticed the change in her body language. Her shoulders stiffened, pulled back, square. Her eyes narrowed, her mouth turning down at the edges. “I didn’t call when I heard about John—that’s what this is really all about?”

Sam didn’t move. 

She stopped walking and turned to face him. “If I had called…what would you have done? What good would it have done Dean? None of us exactly kept in contact after Dean’s brush with the Wendigo, did we? Did I miss some Christmas card from you and your brother? Some phone call from your dad? No…I didn’t, did I? We’re hunters, Sam. Sometimes we can help each other out, sometime we can’t.”

She turned and strode through the trees, anger pouring from her. 

Before Sam took another step, she turned back and stared at him. “You want to know why I didn’t come crying when I got word of John’s deal with that demon? Because there wasn’t a damn thing I could do about it! As far as I’m concerned, your dad was a dead man walking the second he started hunting that demon. And as for Dean…he called me…so did you. So did Bobby. But I couldn’t come looking for you boys because of Dean; because of what he wanted from me!”

Sam felt a cold pit in his stomach as Alice slowly walked up to him. Even with his towering height, she seemed larger than him, holding his gaze as she stepped in front of him, anger burning bright in her eyes. 

“Do you know what Dean asked me to do?”

Sam didn’t move. 

“Do you know,” Alice growled. “Answer me, dammit!”

Sam shook his head, not wanting to hear the answer but his mind was already whirling with possibilities; possibilities that were near guarantees, given Dean’s track record. 

“He wanted me to find a way to get John back,” Alice snapped. “By any means necessary. He had already tried to make a deal to get your dad back…demon said no, thank God for that! Dean thought I could help him, that I had some nifty way to save your dad from an eternity in hell, using the little down payment of Dean’s soul.”

Sam froze at her words. 

“So I decided that before Dean came looking for me, I’d better just disappear until he cooled off. I scattered my books over three states to make sure Dean couldn’t find them. I didn’t call anyone because I wasn’t going to have any part of it. John was on a hell-bent mission from the moment your mom burned on that ceiling,” Alice spat. “And I wasn’t about to help Dean plan out his own trip downstairs.”

They stood staring at each other, the words hanging heavily between them. Alice looked down at her boots, her face flushed. Sam kept staring at her, wondering what to do. He wasn’t going to argue…he knew she wouldn’t lie to him…about some things, sure…but nothing like this. And he knew Dean. He knew Dean would lie to him, keeping him in the dark as to why he had pushed he and Sam to search for Alice so hard after John had died. He felt a heat wave of anger rushing over him. 

With a shake of her head, Alice stomped off, her boots snapping twigs as she went. “Let’s just get this done, Sam…stop standing there with your mouth hanging open,” she called out over her shoulder. 

Without a word, Sam trudged after her. Next time, he’d make Bobby go. He could see the bright sunlight filtering in through the trees, the clearing ahead. They stepped into the overgrown clearing, insects buzzed in the overgrown dog fennel that stood nearly as tall as Sam. 

Without waiting for Sam to follow her, Alice tore into the tangled mess and left a narrow path in the crushed undergrowth. Sam kept a few feet to her left, his eyes glued to the ground in hopes of finding the plant that could help Dean. They didn’t talk, both bogged down with their own thoughts. A dozen feet into the clearing Sam spotted lacey leaves and kneeled low to make sure it was the plant they needed. Black and brown spots covered it, slime and decay coated the plant’s stalk. 

He spotted another plant a few feet away, this one laying on the ground, rotten. Something wasn’t right. 

“Alice, over here,” he called out. He jumped when she appeared next to him, silent in the overgrowth. “Look at this, both rotten.”

“Same thing I’ve found,” she said with a frown, her brows furrowed as she prodded the plant. “I can’t understand it. It’s in season…so what the hell happened to it all?”

“Could something—“

Sam was cut off by a loud snarl somewhere in the dense growth. Instantly and without a word, he and Alice were standing, their backs to one another; their previous conversation forgotten for the moment. They stared into the tangle of grass, dog fennel, tree saplings, and brambles. “Do you see anything,” Alice whispered. 

Sam stood on tiptoe and peered out over the clearing. He could see the dog fennels swaying as something pushed its way through them. “I see something moving about a hundred feet to our right…coming right for us, by the look of it,” Sam muttered quietly. 

“You want to stay and take it out or make a run for it,” Alice asked, keeping her voice low. 

“If we kill it, does that help Dean,” Sam asked. 

Alice shook her head. “Not really…but it might make me feel better,” she admitted with a shrug. 

Sam snorted lightly. She sounded like Dean. 

“I say we get out of here,” Sam muttered. “We don’t have time to dispose of a dead Fay.”

Alice nodded her agreement. “Fine.”

They took off across the clearing, leaves and branches snapping loudly under their boots. A nearby snarl made them go faster. Sam could hear something moving behind them. His shoulder throbbed with every step he took, the uneven ground making him stumble. 

“Keep going,” he heard Alice yell out before she veered away from him. 

He broke the tree line and glanced back to see if Alice was behind him, the glint of the Impala a few hundred feet away. He turned his eyes back to the overgrown clearing, anxious to be moving again. He heard a branch snap and caught a glimpse of reddish hair as she came flying out of the bushes, fear in her eyes. He knew she was going down hard, her arms thrown out in front to slow her fall. He spotted the bright green, lacey leaved plant in her bare hand and ran towards her. She hit the ground hard, sprawling through the tangled growth. 

“Alice!”

“Sam, it’s—“

He watched in horror as Alice was suddenly jerked backwards, her words disappearing as she fought to kick at something behind her. Their eyes met for a second before she was dragged out of sight, back into the thick maze of dog fennel, her hands scrambling along the rough ground, trying to find something to hold on to. Sam ran back to the edge of the overgrown clearing, listening for any sound that would tell him which way they went. A shrill screech followed by a yell somewhere off to his right was all he needed before crashing into the undergrowth, pushing the dog fennel out of his way. “Alice!”

Sam continued to fight his way through the tall growth, briars snagging his clothes as he went. “Alice! Where are you?”

Silence filled his ears. “Alice! Where the hell are you?!”

He was about to panic when he finally heard her. “Over here!”

He turned, trying to pinpoint her voice. His shoulder throbbed as he stumbled and suddenly, he was falling. He landed on his good arm and knees, trying to protect his stitched shoulder. He hissed at the agonizing pain, suddenly wishing he had morphine in the trunk. He jumped as he felt something touch his arm. “Sam?”

He forced his eyes open, spots dancing in his vision. “Alice?”

“Yeah… Sam,” she gasped from underneath him. “Can you get off me?”

He realized he was sprawled over her, his knees planted in her chest. “Sorry,” he mumbled as he shifted off of her, trying to survey the damage. 

She rolled to her side, coughing to filling her crushed lungs with air. Sam grabbed her shoulder and awkwardly heaved her into a sitting position. He kneeled next to her, not sure what to do. He couldn’t hear the Fay in the leaves, but that didn’t mean much. He turned back to Alice; he could see her hands were bloody, long scratches running from her hands to her elbows. Leaves were tangled in her hair, dirt and blood caked on her cheek. She groaned as she rolled her dirty jeans up to reveal large hand shaped bruises blossoming on her calves. “Look familiar?”

Sam nodded as he cradled his shoulder. “Same as Dean’s face. What the hell was that thing doing out here?”

“I’d guess the same thing we were, going after the nettles,” she said, grimacing as she ran a hand over her side. “All those rotten nettles…guess the Fay is trying to get rid of anything we can use to protect Dean.”

“What about the nettles you found,” Sam asked as he peered around them, looking for any sign of the plant she had found. 

“Gone, rotted in my hand,” Alice said with a frown. “Let’s get the hell out of here. How’s your shoulder?”

Without waiting for Sam to reply, she pulled his shirt open, peering at his shoulder. “Guessing you got lucky; it doesn’t look like you pulled any stitches out. We’ll check them when we get back to Bobby’s.”

Sam nodded as he slowly climbed to his feet. “Now what?”

“Plan B,” Alice said sternly. “Now, which way is the damn car?”

After a long limping walk to the car, Alice and Sam were off again. Sam watched as Alice drove, wondering how she knew where she was going. She was silent as she drove, occasionally running a hand over her side and pulling a stray leaf from her hair. As she pulled the car off the main road, he saw a large farmhouse come into view. Large well-tended gardens surrounded the main house, a barn in the distant field. 

“You know this place,” he asked as he noticed several blonde haired children on the porch, their wide eyes staring at the car as it approached. 

“No, Sam. I thought I’d just ask some complete stranger for some common garden weeds so we can save your brother from a bunch of faeries,” Alice said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. She climbed out of the car, waving at the kids on the porch. “Go find your momma!”

The four children took off into the house, the screen door slamming behind them. Sam climbed out of the car, wondering what was going on. 

“Alice, where are we?”

“Mercury Farm,” she said as she started walking toward the large house. “You will never come here without me or Bobby, you understand me?”

“What are we here for,” he asked impatiently, ignoring her statement. He needed to get back to Dean. 

“Nettles. Maybe a few other things if we’re lucky,” Alice explained as she nodded at a tall, pale woman approaching them. Her platinum blonde hair was loose, framing her thin face. Sam didn’t miss the worry on her face as she glanced at the children now sitting on the porch railing. He look curiously from the woman to the children, red ribbons tied in the long hair of the girls and tied onto the wrists of the boys. The soft sound of bells met his ears; he spotted them pinned to the edge of the woman’s sleeve. 

“Alice Hilty,” the woman stated; her voice wary. “What the hell are you doing in South Dakota?”

“Hello Hattie,” Alice said as she walked toward the woman. “I’m here to help out a friend. I’m hoping you might have a few things we can’t get. You know I wouldn’t bother you unless it was a real emergency…”

Hattie glanced back to the children before turning her attention back to them. She glanced at Sam before speaking to Alice. “Bobby Singer knows you’re here in town?”

“He does. We need a few things to hold off the Fay…although; I can see you’re having your own Fay problems at the moment,” Alice said with a curt nod toward the children sitting on the porch railing.

The woman frowned before nodding. “We’ve had all the signs since early morning: fresh milk spoiling, fruit rotting on the table, things like that.”

Alice nodded. “We need a few things to protect a Teind. We’re having a hard time getting nettles, found a patch of wild ones but they rotted right in front of us. I was hoping your supply might be intact.”

“I put up extra deterrents early this morning so hopefully they’re fine,” Hattie said as she hurried to one of the large fenced gardens. 

Sam glanced around the farm, realizing that this woman wasn’t a simple farmer. The Amish hex sign painted on the barn, carvings on fence posts, and a sudden realization of the garden design made him glance at Hattie. She was far more knowledgeable than he would have guessed. He paused to take in the large metal frame that contained a large herb garden, wondering if any neighbors had noticed the enormous pentagram shaped garden. 

“What do you use to deter Fay,” Sam asked curiously as he rushed to catch up to them. 

“For the gardens, I plant rows of herbs they hate around the ones that I need. I also use iron in the fences and iron gates. I use things to bait them away from the house and gardens, things they want… For our own protection, I use silver bells on our clothes, red ribbons in hair, fresh bread in pockets, along with a few other things,” she explained. “I use the older methods, since I don’t want to scare the children. There are other ways, more painful and costly, but I won’t resort to those unless it’s necessary. Who was unlucky enough to be chosen as a Teind?”

“My brother,” Sam explained. “He’s under lock and key right now but we won’t be able to keep him like that much longer.”

Hattie nodded as Alice pushed past them and went into the garden, knife and gloves in hand. “It is hard to convince someone who has been chosen that they can’t be left alone or left free to wander around. My family has lost a child nearly every generation to the Fay.”

“Do the Fay prefer certain family lines?”

Hattie shook her head. “Not unless you have Fay blood in the bloodline. My family does, unfortunately. So far, all of my children have been untouched by the Fay but it might not always be that way.”

Sam watched as Alice walked through the garden, her eyes scouring the beds for herbs she needed. “When you said you leave bait for the Fay…what did you mean?”

Hattie blushed. “My grandmother taught me… she, like so many others, believed that if you left gifts for the Fay that your crops would grow strong, your cows would produce more milk... The Seelie court have long provided good lives to humans they favor…you might leave a saucer of sugary milk on the doorstep at night, a smooth stone, or some small trinket. On full moons, should you come across a puddle that reflects the moon, you must pour in a pail of fresh milk.”

Sam tried to hold back his disbelief. “And those work?”

Hattie shrugged. “I’ve done all of these things for years, in efforts to gain favor from the Seelie. I have suffered loss; but as I said, none of my children have been taken.”

They watched silently as Alice cut stalks of green nettles and sweet smelling herbs. With an armload of greenery, she headed to the car, placing it all in the trunk before returning to them. “I appreciate it, Hattie. If you see the Fay again, do me a favor and call Bobby.”

Hattie nodded. “I hope your brother makes it. A Teind is a hard one to keep, but far harder to lose.”

Alice stood silent for a minute, staring at the children on the porch. “Hattie…I’ve read about a salve… something that could allow someone to see past the Fay magic…do you know anything about it?”

Hattie shifted uncomfortably, her head dipping low allowing her blonde hair to cover her face. “I do.”

Alice and Sam shared a look of hope. “What can you tell us about it?”

“It’s dangerous,” Hattie muttered. “Best forget about it.”

 

“We’ll take the risk,” Sam countered. 

Hattie stood silent. “Let me show you something.”

Sam and Alice followed Hattie across the yard and up the steps. The children stepped back, staring up at Sam. They stood silent as Hattie motioned Sam and Alice to follow her inside. The inside of the house was plain, reminding Sam of Alice’s own house, simply furnished but everything with a purpose. Hattie led them up a flight of stairs and paused outside of a narrow door. 

“You mustn’t tell anyone,” she muttered. 

Sam watched curiously as she pulled a worn skeleton key from a red ribbon around her neck. She hesitated before pushing the key into the lock and turning it. The loud ‘pop’ of the old lock made Hattie jump. She pushed the door open and gestured for Alice and Sam to enter. 

Sam looked at Alice. She shrugged and pushed past him, clearly more curious than worried. Sam followed her in and glanced around the room. Sunlight flowed through the white cotton curtains, the soft green walls lined with framed photographs of the children and Hattie. Sam paused to stare at a picture of Hattie, younger and happier, wrapped in the arms of a young man. 

Lost in thought, Sam was jerked from the pictures by Alice. She grabbed his good arm and spun him around. He froze. A deep silence encompassed the room, not a sound made as Sam took a step toward the bed. It had been shoved into the corner of the room, under the sloped ceiling of the gable. He lifted the gauzy mosquito netting and gazed at the form that lay perfectly still on the colorful quilt. 

Arms by his sides, he looked just as he had in the photograph, minus a few inhuman differences. His dark hair held no traces of gray, no stubble lined his face. Sam couldn’t see any movement: no rise and fall of his chest, no soft movement in his hands. Nothing. His skin was pale, but Sam could still see the wood grain. Maple, maybe. It must have taken months to carve such a remarkably lifelike and life-size doll. Sam frowned at the eyes, they looked as though someone had taken a knife to the wood, gouging and destroying the hard wood, leaving behind scars. 

Alice moved to the bed’s side and reached out, running her hand along his arm. She pulled her hand back instantly before slowly reaching out again. 

She glanced at Sam. “Changeling—“

Her words trailed off as she glanced at the doorway where Hattie stood. Alice replaced the gauzy netting and moved to the low table under the window. A round bowl of smooth pebbles sat in the center, a tall glass of milk to the right, and a jar of honey to the left. A stack of dried tobacco leaves were strung on a yellow ribbon and tied to the knob of the drawer. Symbols were drawn on the window pane, two crescent moons pointing towards each other. 

Sam and Alice turned and left the room, as silent as they had entered. Hattie closed and locked the door. 

“Don’t speak until we are outside,” she said before descending the stairs. 

Once outside and away from the house, Sam broke the silence. “What was that?!”

“It’s obvious, Sam..,” Alice snapped. “A changeling. Not a living one…a doll.”

Hattie said nothing as she glanced at the small upstairs window. 

“Am I right, Hattie?”

“Yes, although anything else would have been more kind,” she said. “When the Fay first took my husband, I fought for his return with gifts. I was successful the first several times they took him. They took my offerings and returned him, weeks and sometimes months later. But the last time…he never came back. When I found—what you saw—I knew he wasn’t coming back. They went through so much trouble to carve a doll in his likeness…they didn’t intend to return him. I still leave gifts for his safe return…they’ve sat untouched for years.” 

“What are the items on the table meant for,” Alice asked. 

Hattie cleared her throat, her eyes watering from tears unshed. Her voice quaked with bitterness and anger. “A doll is worse than a dying replacement. A doll requires daily maintenance. It must be offered food, tobacco, and small gifts, hence the pebbles. If you refuse to house a doll, or provide it food, your loved one will suffer the cold and hunger.”

Sam felt a weight hit him, imaging the task of caring for a shallow replacement rather than a loved one…of being hostage to the Fay’s rules. 

“How many years has it been,” Alice asked, her voice low. 

“Four,” Hattie said as she glanced at the children who had returned to the porch. “He’s never even seen our last child. I’ve been working to keep the Fay content…I have to keep the children safe…I can’t lose anyone else.”

“Hattie, how did being taken affect him? How was he when he returned each time,” Sam asked. He knew it was cruel, but he wanted to hear it. 

The blonde woman paused, her gaze softening. “He was lost. He would forget who we were…who he was. He would lose time itself, never understanding how long he had been gone. He was scared to eat, but starving all the same. He had nightmares for months, and after each one he seemed lost again, like he wasn’t sure what was real. He would cry out for me, but push me away. He went from being a man to a child…scared of the dark and crying in his sleep.” 

“What did he see when he was taken,” Alice asked. 

“I believed he saw the Seelie. He described beautiful things and places…so the next day I made the salve and put it in his eyes. The next time he was taken and returned, his stories were darker, after that I knew he was seeing past the magic. He was seeing the Unseelie.”

“Hattie…about the salve…,” Alice asked. Now more than ever, they needed the help. 

“It’s dangerous,” she explained. “The Fay give the victims the Sight; they can see all the magic of the Fay: the pretty lies, the pretty faces they wear, the banquets…the intoxicating beauty.” 

“And the salve…,” Sam said, waiting for the negative.

“It allows you to see what’s real. Whether it’s a truly beautiful Fay or a terrifying one; it removes the mask. It’s smeared into the eyes. Afterwards, they can see the truth of the matter. The Fay’s real faces, their true home, that the banquet tables that are covered in raw meat and ash…not pastries.”

“You said it’s dangerous? How is seeing their true forms dangerous,” Sam asked. 

“Did you notice the eyes of the changeling doll,” Hattie asked, her eyes glued to the ground. 

“Yes,” Sam said. 

“When that doll was found here, in the garden, it wasn’t like that. It had beautiful eyes…Just like my husband’s. Green like grass, with flecks of gold…Well, remember…I told you that whatever fate the doll suffers, so shall the man….the doll also shows the condition of the real man.”

Sam shifted. “So—you’re saying the Fay did that to your husband, and it showed up on the doll as well?”

Hattie nodded. “It’s because of the salve...I know it is.”

“Why?”

“If the Fay realize someone can see their true form, their true home…they will ask which eye you can see them from. If you say the right eye, they will gouge out your right eye. If you say left, they will gouge out the left. You have to be clever in order to not be blinded. They use trickery to fool men into answering.”

“So we just don’t let them realize Dean can see them,” Sam stated firmly. 

Hattie shook her head vehemently. “Don’t be foolish! By using the salve, I damned my husband to be blinded. No. Your brother won’t be able to keep his fear in check. He’ll give himself away.”

“But—“

Alice interrupted him. “Hattie…we know Dean ate something from the Fay and was having hallucinations…we were able to flush the poison out. Would that salve have helped him then?”

She needed Sam to stop pushing Hattie. He was making this personal for her. 

Hattie’s head shook from side to side. “I doubt it. The hallucinations go beyond what you can see, they affect what you believe. The salve is only meant to cure your vision, not your mind.” 

“So about this salve…how do we get it,” Sam pushed. 

Hattie looked from Alice to Sam, her face lined with apprehension. “It’s difficult to make, one wrong measurement and it can blind you just as easily as the Fay.”

“But it might be the best thing we can try, to help him,” Sam argued. 

“You’re not helping him. Whether by the Fay or the salve, you’ll only blind him. Better to find another way,” Hattie cautioned. 

“Can you make the salve? Or give us the recipe,” Sam persisted. 

Hattie took a step back. “No.”

“Hattie—“

“I gave you the plants you needed. Now leave,” she spat before she turned and headed for the house. Sam watched as she hurried the children inside before closing the large wooden door. 

“Guess that could have gone better,” he mumbled as he slid into the Impala. 

“Could have gone worse,” Alice quipped. “Least she didn’t shoot us…she’s still grieving and that damn doll is making her life hell.”

Sam watched as the farm disappeared in the passenger side mirror. “I can’t imagine doing that…spending time caring for a doll like that. That’s gotta be draining for her.”

Alice nodded solemnly. “But her fear keeps her from doing anything different. If she stops, she’ll have to forever wonder if her husband suffered for it. I don’t envy her.”

“How do you know her?”

Alice shrugged. “Her family used to live near the Amish community where I live. Her great grandfather fell out of favor in the community…he was a Gypsy tinker who lived by superstition, he moved his family to South Dakota after one of his children disappeared. Fay, undoubtedly. They’ve been running Mercury Farm for generations.”

“Does she know about you,” Sam asked. “That you knew her family back in the day?”

Alice shook her head before replying, her voice dry. “I don’t go around telling everyone about being a phoenix and not aging. It tends to make people want to kill me.”

“Speaking of which…,” Sam added, wondering if Alice would answer his question. She had been unusually talkative all day. “What was the story about dad hunting you down? I know you mentioned it once, when we stayed in Tennessee. Dad mentioned it but never got into any details.”

They road in silence; Sam waited for Alice to speak. 

“You have your dad’s journal…I’m sure it’s all in there if you really want to know.”

“Actually, those pages are missing. The name ‘Alice’ is written in the edge, but it’s torn out.”

“Then I guess he didn’t want you boys to know,” she offered as she pulled into the salvage yard. “Anything else you Hardy Boys want to know about? Or can I get back to work?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thoughts? Let me know if there is anything not properly clarified or confusing. Or if you need more whump. Or more Bobby. Or Dean. Or whatever....I aim to please!


	21. Steel Trap

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So….I’ve been away for a while. Not to far from my computer; just far, far away from my creative side. So, I apologize for the severe neglect this story has suffered. And I promise you, we’re going to get to the end. We have to save Dean, because that’s what we do.

Bobby Singer’s Panic Room, Sioux Falls, South Dakota

Dean was losing it. Or not. He couldn’t tell anymore. He had been fighting nightmares, one after another, before a noise yanked from him another vision of Hell. His eyes flew open as he tried to bring the room back into focus. He could taste brimstone in the back of his throat, burning as it suffocated him. He fell to his knees as he rolled off the cot, gasping and sucking in cool air as he reminded himself that he was in the panic room. 

Not hell. 

Not yet, anyhow. 

Hearing the peculiar sound again he moved to door and peered through the narrow slit, tracking shadows out in the cellar. He could hear Bobby walking around upstairs…and that meant it wasn’t Bobby who he had heard in the cellar. His eyes narrowed as he continued to peer into the dim room, trying to ignore his trembling hands. He wanted to call out to Bobby, but he didn’t want to bring any attention to himself. 

“Sam,” he whispered painfully, trying to call out. His throat was raw and ragged from screaming his lungs out earlier. A low growl met his ears and he really didn’t think it was Rumsfeld. He needed Sam; whatever was snooping around the cellar was obviously not a friendly. 

His ears pricked at the sound of a door opening and slamming overhead, familiar voices making him let out a shaky sigh of relief. Sam would come down soon and Dean would make Sam let him out… He needed someone to let him out. He was a sitting duck. He had no weapons. No means to protect himself. His heartbeat filled his ears, making any other sound hard to discern. He bit back a shaky breath as he spotted the shadow on the far wall. Whatever it was, it was lanky. 

He considered again calling out for Sam, but before he could; the grating sound of metal on metal stole the last of his voice. The sound grew louder. His shaking hands worked to firmly hold the large metal wheel that locked and unlocked his iron cage. He jumped back from the door as the overhead light bulb burst in a brilliant flash, broken glass falling to the floor as the flash blinded him. Back to the wall, his eyes fought to adjust to the dim light that came in through the vent overhead. Quick, painful breathes threatened to burst his lungs. He blindly moved across the room, desperate to find a weapon. Glass cut his feet as he tripped over the cot, his hands bracing his fall as he sprawled on the floor. 

As the scratching sound grew deafening, Dean’s grasp of stealth failed. “SAM!!”

Upstairs, Sam was listening to Bobby’s lecture on keeping his stitches intact when he heard it. Dean screaming, his voice filled with panic as he wailed for Sam. He had heard Dean yell before, but this was enough to make his stomach flip-flop. Something was wrong. Very wrong. He hadn’t even thought Dean was capable of screaming anymore with his throat already so raspy. Sam took off for the cellar door, yanking it open and running down the steep steps, his shoulder twinging in pain as he did. 

“Sam, wait,” Bobby yelled out from behind him. 

Sam didn’t slow down; tripping on the steps and sliding down the last five. Alice and Bobby were right behind him; he barely registered the sound of a pump action shotgun before Bobby yelled for him to get down. He hit the floor as Bobby pulled the trigger, the sound deafening him as it tore through the air. 

He didn’t need to look to know that his stitches had burst; he could feel the sudden warmth of blood spreading across his shirt. He opened his eyes, blurred from the searing pain in his shoulder. He yelled out in surprise and scrambled backwards, a gray skinned Fay laying inches from him. 

“It’s dead, Sam! Keep moving, get to Dean! Get going,” Bobby called out he reloaded the gun. 

He didn’t acknowledge Bobby’s words, his attention focused only on Dean, whose voice still filling the air with fear. Sam yanked on the heavy iron door. It didn’t budge. 

“Dean—open the door!”

Sam looked through the narrow slit in the door; he could barely see Dean’s silhouette across the dim room. He stood in a defensive position, yelling and swinging blindly. Sam ignored the blood seeping from his shoulder and tried the door again, cursing when it refused to budge.

“Bobby, I think the door is jammed. Or locked from the inside…”

Bobby handed the shotgun to Alice before sidled up to him. He and Alice shared a stern nod before she stepped into the shadows that filled the end of the cellar. “Watch it, Sam. We need to make sure we’re alone down here.”

“What about Dean? How do we know he’s alone in there,” Sam asked nervously, ignoring the large red stain that was working its way down his shirt. 

Bobby shrugged. “We don’t, but since he’s still here, I’m going to guess he is. See if you can calm him down while we can get this damn door open.”

Sam stared through the slit. He could see Dean, listing from side to side before leaning heavily on the wall; he wasn’t going to stay upright for long by the look of it. Dean kept calling out, his voice breaking on Sam’s name. “Looks like he’s about to crash, Bobby. We’ve got to get in there.” 

“Him passing out might be a blessing right now. He’s in bad shape and a drawn out panic attack ain’t going to help him,” Bobby grunted as he tried the door again. “We’re going to have to address your shoulder before long. Bleeding looks bad.”

“It’s fine, Bobby,” Sam snapped before turning his attention back to his brother. “Dean, calm down! I’m right here…Can you open the door? Dean, listen to me…”

Dean didn’t react to Sam’s voice, not this time. Dark figures kept creeping around the edges of his vision, their whispers assailing his already fragile reality. He kept right on yelling, his voice hoarse and failing; his grip on reality shaky and slipping from his mind. He had seen and questioned too much already. Shock could claim a body, but this time, it was claiming his mind. 

“Let me out! Let me out! Sammy—get me out!”

“Dean! Listen to me—open the damn door,” Sam’s voice came out sterner than he intended. He cringed at the sound…it had sounded like John. 

Bobby gave him a sideways glance before grabbing a wrench from a table across the room. “Careful there, Sam.”

Sam ignored Bobby, watching Dean’s silhouette straighten. “Dean? Can you hear me, man? Please, open the door.”

He let out a sigh of frustration when Dean began to pace back and forth again, his voice fading to nothing even as he kept trying to cry out. Sam didn’t move from the door, trying to coax Dean across the room towards the door. 

“Let me out,” Dean suddenly shouted, his voice ragged. “Sammy!”

Sam watched in concern as Dean lashed out at something only he could see. “Bobby, there aren’t any weapons in there…right?”

Bobby rolled his eyes as he tried to open the door again. “What kind of idjit do you think I am? Course there are no weapons in there…except that Dean is quick on his feet and can turn anything into one. Why?”

“Just worried,” Sam murmured. “Dean! Listen, man, open the door.”

He watched as his words seemed to startle Dean. He turned and faced the door, his hands splayed on the wall at his sides. 

Inside the dark room, Dean tried to ignore the many voices calling his name. He knew some of the voices weren’t real…they couldn’t be. He wanted quiet. He wanted fresh air. He wanted Sammy. He wanted Sam to let him out. He wanted the nightmarish voice hissing from across the room to just be a nightmare and most of all; he wanted to be able to tell the difference. Exhaustion and fear was wasting his grip on reality and some part of Dean’s well developed self-preservation knew that. 

Sam watched as Dean slid down the wall until he was sitting with his knees under his chin, his face buried in his arms. It had been a long time since he had seen Dean in that defeated pose. It unnerved him. He could hear a faint mumble through the door. He wasn’t sure what Dean was saying, but for a split second he was certain heard Mary’s name. 

“Bobby, we’ve got to get this door open,” Sam pleaded. “Right now.”

“We’ll get it open,” Alice said as she stepped up to the door. She gave the metal wheel a heave, trying desperately to make it turn before stepping back, eyeing the door, her hand going to her side again. “Bobby…I see two ways for us getting in there. Either the vent above or we’re taking the damn door down. Take your pick.”

Bobby didn’t hesitate as he handed the gun to Sam. “We’ll be right back. Alice, let’s go grab some things from the garage.”

Sam stood at the door, one eye on Dean’s quaking form and one on the dead Fay. He was getting tired of all this, they needed to find a permanent solution. Locking Dean up might be the recommended method, but it had come with a high price and no end. If Cas hadn’t been so damn unreliable lately, Sam would have called him up and demanded help; but when the angel had to be summoned before bothering to show up only to be dismissive…Sam wasn’t interested in wasting any more time. 

Sam was startled out of his worrying when Bobby set a metal tank next to the door with a grunt. “Move over, Sam.”

“Bobby—“

Alice gently pushed him aside as she tossed her loose over shirt and hat out of the way. “Move it, kiddo. It’s about to get real hot down here and I don’t need you getting burned…Bobby, you might as well take Sam upstairs and check him over. This isn’t going to be quick.”

Sam allowed himself to be pushed away from the door, away from his only connection to Dean. He watched Alice stretch her shoulder, testing the weight of the torch in her hand. She rested a hand on her side, staring hard at the door, her face guarded. 

“Alice, you okay?”

She ignored his question, pulled the welding mask over her face, effectively ending any conversation between them. He could see a faint smear of blood on her shirt and was about to ask Alice about it when Bobby placed a striker in her gloved hand and moved back next to Sam. “Sure glad we’ve got Alice for this. It’s gonna be hotter than hell down here and being a phoenix, she won’t be as bothered by it.”

Alice squeezed the striker near the end of the torch, the rasp of metal on metal making Sam grimace. The pop and whoosh of the gas ignited, making him take a step back. Alice adjusted the valves on the small tank, taking the flame from yellow to a hypnotic blue. 

“Come on, she knows what she’s doing,” Bobby said as he urged him up the steps as Alice moved toward the metal door, her silhouette glowing from the fire in her hand. 

“Bobby…is this going to work,” Sam said as he stepped back into the kitchen. 

He nodded as he adjusted his cap. “It better, cause it’s going to ruin the damn door.”

“I thought the panic room was iron—“

“It is, but the door is steel, with an iron sheet on the back. She’ll be able to use the torch to burn off the hinges and lock. I had to do some welding to make the panic room in the first place…guess I should have figured we’d be down there taking it apart the same way,” Bobby said as he dug out the large tackle box from under the sink that held some of the first aid supplies. 

“Sorry, Bobby…”

“Don’t be sorry, idjit. Just be glad I had a small tank…I wasn’t looking forward to lugging one of the bigger tanks down there. Now get over here so I can do something about your shoulder.”

“Bobby—“

“Don’t ‘Bobby’ me. Now sit!”

Sam dropped into the chair, defeated. After removing his flannel shirt, Bobby cut away his bloody t-shirt and whistled. “You did a bang up job of finding the floor with your shoulder. We’ve got time until Alice will need some help so how about you just sit there and let’s get this over with?”

“Fine,” Sam muttered indignantly, feeling punished by being injured. He needed to be downstairs. The tattling words were out of his mouth before he could consider the consequences, his voice laced with spite. “Just make sure Alice gets hers too…”

“What was that,” Bobby grunted from across the room as he dug through the box. 

“She’s bleeding.”

Bobby frowned and grabbed the gauze. “You damn houseguests don’t tell me anything… until it’s too late and every last one of you is half dead. Has my bedside manner gotten so crappy that no one wants to tell me anything?!”

When Sam didn’t say anything, Bobby went back to silently scrutinized the torn stitches as he figured out how to keep Sam from the emergency room. “Looks like these haven’t begun to dissolve yet so I’ll just pull them out and start over. Let’s hope you only pulled a few loose. I can’t imagine having to goes as deep into your shoulder as before….if we do, you’re going to the hospital.”

Sam snorted and shook his head. “Bullshit, Bobby. There is no way you’d send me into a hospital half stitched up from a bullet wound. How are you going to explain that?”

Bobby grunted. “Easy. I’d drop you at the curb and haul ass out of there. Let you explain it.”

A sudden banging from below caught their attention. “Is that Alice,” Sam asked worriedly. 

“I doubt it…I’d bet money it’s Dean. He’s pretty damn determined to get out of there,” Bobby muttered. “Let’s just hope he doesn’t hurt himself in the process.”

Sam leaned back in the chair, worry growing and eating at him. He needed to get to Dean. A painful jab in his shoulder made him wince. He hated having stitches removed. Nowhere near as much as having them put in though. Bobby slid a book across the table to him. “Might as do some light reading while I patch you back up.”

“Light reading,” Sam quipped as he hefted the heavy book. “Not funny, Bobby.”

“Neither is this mess,” Bobby remarked as he peered at the torn flesh. “Try not to wince. You know the drill.”

Sam took a deep breath and let it out slowly as Bobby began pulling the old stitches out. He flipped the book open with his good arm and resolved to not ask Bobby for painkillers. He was going to help with Dean whether Bobby liked it or not and that meant he had to be awake and focused. 

The loud banging from the cellar came and went, spaced out with muffled yelling. The sounds worried both of them. Bobby knew there wasn’t anything valuable in the room for Dean to destroy, but he wasn’t looking forward to the damage it was undoubtedly doing to Dean. 

Bobby worked methodically, removing the damaged stitches and plotting where the replacements would have to go into the red, angry flesh. Over the years, he had repeated several patch-up jobs. They were always bad news, most ending with infections and bulky scar tissue. After washing his hands again, Bobby tore open a new kit. He hated putting in stitches. It was tedious work, one that caused someone pain by his own hands. He paused over Sam’s shoulder; one look at him and he knew Sam was waiting for the needle to pierce him. He was sitting perfectly still, fists clenched on either side of the book before him, eyes glued to the text in front of him, and his breathe held. 

“Sam?”

“Yeah, Bobby,” Sam asked, his eyes glued to the book. 

“You need something before we do this?”

“I’m fine,” Sam said evenly, his voice tight from concentration. 

“You’re holding your breath,” Bobby countered. 

“I am not,” Sam sputtered with a sharp cough. “Let’s get this done already. I want to be ready to help Dean.”

Bobby shook his head and gripped the mangled flesh, pulling the torn edges back together. Soon, Bobby was lost in the methodical rhythm of the needle sliding into flesh, the taut thread being pulling through, and the sound of the scissors as he clipped the thread after each knot. He noted Sam’s tight jaw and slow, long breathes. He knew the kid was hurting. 

Halfway through, Bobby nudged him. “You holding up alright?”

“Yeah, Bobby, I’m fine.”

“Are you sure? You’ve been staring at the same damn page for thirty minutes,” Bobby said as the banging from the cellar ceased. 

“Just worried is all,” Sam replied, his eyes not straying off the one word on the page he was affixed on. He had experienced worse pain but his shoulder still burned like fire. “He….He’s trapped in a giant metal box that I stuck him in…He could be hurt or taken, and he’s terrified… that’s not like Dean…I don’t like that he wouldn’t answer me.”

Bobby grunted his agreement. “Nothing to argue with there, except that I’m the one who forced him into the panic room. Not you.” 

“It was the only good option we had, Bobby,” Sam muttered. 

“Well since you damn well know that, don’t go beating yourself up over it,” Bobby remarked. “He’s in there. He’s scared, any of us would be. He might be hurt. Doesn’t matter, cause we’re going to pry that damn door down and do whatever we have to…we’ll call up Crowley and light his ass up until he lets Dean out of the Fay deal if we have to.”

Sam fell quiet as Bobby smeared antibiotic ointment over the new stitches and applied a new bandage, taping it securely in place. Sam was halfway to standing when Bobby shoved him back down in the chair. “You’re not going anywhere. Especially, down into the cellar, it’s too damn hot down there right now. She’ll let us know when she’s done.” 

They sat across from each other at the table, the clock silent as the time dragged by. 

“What about Dean,” Sam muttered as he flipped the book closed. 

“What about him?”

“If it’s too hot for us to be down there, aren’t you worried about the heat getting to him,” Sam asked, trying to head off his anger at Bobby. He knew Bobby was just trying to keep him out of Alice’s way, not away from Dean. But evening knowing that didn’t do anything for his growing impatience. 

“The turbine in the vent overhead is turning and moving the heat and fumes from the torch well away from Dean,” Bobby explained. “Unless he touches the door, he’ll be alright.”

“And Alice,” Sam asked. 

“Well, she is using an acetylene torch in an enclosed area…but she can take the heat. The fumes though….I’ve set a fan down there and opened a few of the cellar vents, but…..we’ll just have to hope for the best. I was going to do it, but Alice….you know how she is,” Bobby’s voice rambled off. 

Three loud knocks from downstairs caught their attention. “She’s about done then. I’ll go down and help her.”

Sam was to the cellar door before Bobby caught him. “Not a step down there, Sam. Get everything ready for us to bring Dean up.” 

A sweat broke over Bobby’s skin as he descended the stairs into the stifling heat. He watched in silence as Alice slowly moved through last steps of cutting away through the lock. Once again, Bobby was glad they had the extra help. Remembering Sam’s comment about Alice being hurt, he took the opportunity to look her over while her back was turned to him. Her feet were both firmly planted, favoring neither side as she held the equipment. His eyes narrowed when he caught sight of her arms, one elbow tightly tucked to her side even though the job would have been easier if her arm were higher. She was protecting something. He slowly walked toward her, knowing she couldn’t hear him over the burning gas. The small patch of sticky blood on her shirt made him frown. He remembered how hard headed she was about things like getting patched up, reminding him of Dean but in an angrier ‘I’m fine’ kind of way. 

Alice could feel Bobby’s gaze burning a hole in the back of her head, and while she couldn’t hear much of anything past the hiss of the flame, she knew that the house had fallen into a deep, bone chilling silence around her. Sweat glistened on her skin, the torch making the room unbelievably hot. She finally turned the gas down, letting the flame die out. She turned to Bobby as she pulled the mask from her face. Phoenix or not, it was unbearably hot and she wanted to finish the job as soon as possible. 

“You alright,” Bobby asked as he moved to the door and handed her a bottle of lukewarm water. 

“Fine,” she muttered as she wiped sweat from her eyes. “Let’s just get this done.”

“It’s gone awful quiet,” Bobby muttered. “Think he’s still in there?”

“He better be or I’m going to be pissed as Hell,” Alice snapped as she grabbed the crowbar Bobby held out to her. “Let’s get the damn door down.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry again for the delay. Let me know what you think about the chapter please. More to come!


	22. Fight or Flight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who took the time to review the last chapter, I really appreciate it!   
> I’ve been reviewing my notes on this story, trying to make sure I don’t completely botch this up.   
> Read on, and don’t forget to let me know what you think of it please!

Bobby grabbed a crowbar and jammed it under the now detached hinge and shoved. Alice did the same to the latch. Bobby’s worry grew as the red patch on her shirt spread with every heave on the bar. He knew that getting the door down was the only way to stop her. No point in arguing until then. 

With a loud screech, the metal door came free, sending Bobby and Alice back a few paces as the crowbars came free. It fell loudly to the floor, shaking the room. 

“Careful going in” Alice warned. “He sounded pretty out of it earlier.”

“Let’s just hope he’s still in there.” Bobby clamored over the door and into the panic room. He tried the light switch, frowning when nothing happened. 

“Dean,” he called out, gently. “Where you at, son?”

Not a sound met his ears. “Damn light. Alice, go get a—“

“Here,” she said as she flipped on a flashlight. She climbed into the room next to him and illuminated the light fixture overhead. Glass crunched under her feet, making her shine the light down. “Looks like the bulb exploded—Holy Hell—“

“What,” Bobby snapped as the flashlight illuminated the room. 

It was in shambles. Everything that hadn’t been nailed down was broken, having been thrown or smashed. The wooden table was broken into pieces, the chair now a pile of sticks. Broken glass, ripped magazines, and books littered the floor. “Looks like Dean kept busy while you were cutting through the door…”

Alice’s flashlight illuminated a shiny mark on the floor, making her heart skip a beat. “Bobby, look.”

She kneeled down and turned the flashlight at an angle, the light catching the slick trail of bloody footprints that crossed the room. 

“Jesus, Bobby…,” she muttered as she used the light to follow each bloody step until it ended at a quilted lump across the room. Alice recognized the log cabin quilt and almost sighed in relief. Hiding was not his usual stance, but Dean was obviously still there. Alice and Bobby clamored over the wreckage and grabbed the quilt, pulling it away to reveal a strangely quiet Dean. His shoulders were squared, his gazed fixed somewhere off into the distance. One of the wooden legs from a chair was tightly gripped in his hand. 

“Dean,” Alice said softly. He didn’t move at the sound of her voice. 

“Careful, Alice,” Bobby warned. He had seen Dean lash out before, times when he had been hurt and confused. Or angry. 

“Dean? Can you hear me?”

He shifted toward Alice’s voice before suddenly scrambling to his feet, swaying as he did. Bobby and Alice paused at the sight of the wooden chair leg held firmly in his fist, neither one of them eager to get smacked. Dean’s fingers were bloody, likely torn up from ripping the room apart. His bright eyes were locked onto the open doorway across the room. He took a small step toward the door, the light streaming in from the cellar casting an eerie glow about the room. 

“Dean, hold on son, let us help you,” Bobby said softly as he placed a guiding hand on Dean’s forearm. “Drop the chair leg, Dean. We’ve got you.”

Dean instantly pulled away from Bobby’s touch before lashing out. Bobby jumped back, falling against the wall as Dean took another uneven step toward the door. “Out…”

“You alright, Bobby,” Alice asked as she shined the flashlight at him. 

“Fine, just surprised me is all,” Bobby muttered as he moved toward Dean again. 

“Dean, we’re going to get you out, let’s just take it easy,” Alice said as she took a step toward him. 

Dean’s weight shifted back a step, his eyes locking onto her. She frowned at the blank look in his eyes. “Dean? Can you hear me?”

“I don’t really think he’s all here. He’s been through a lot today already, I’m guessing,” Bobby said, his voice even and soothing to not spook Dean. “Be careful.”

As Alice took a slow step towards him, Dean lashed out, jumping toward her. The chair leg snapped her across the jaw, making her drop to her knees. A fist grazed her as Bobby jumped between them and shoved Dean back a step. He wrestled with Dean, trying to pry the chair leg from his hand. “Stop, Dean!”

“Let me out,” Dean cried out, his voice gravelly and pained. His grip on the chair leg tightened as Bobby moved closer. “Dammit, I want out!” 

“We’re trying to help you, Dean! Just drop the—“

Bobby’s words disappeared as Dean shoved him back hard. Bobby stumbled back, falling over one of the bolted down cots. Alice stumbled to her feet, swaying as her vision blurred. “Dean—“

Dean took a step toward the door, shoving her away as he stumbled over broken furniture that littered the floor. He climbed through the doorway and fell over the fallen door. A noise from inside the room startled him. He climbed to his feet, dropping the chair leg as he staggered to the stairs leaving a trail of bloody footprints behind him. 

Upstairs, Sam was getting impatient. He knew Dean was going to be a handful and while he knew his shoulder was the reason Bobby had benching him, he also knew he was the best shot at getting Dean to calm down. He listened to the yelling from the top of the stairs before heading into living room for the box of first aid supplies Bobby kept under the desk. It sounded like they were going to need it. When the house fell quiet, he began to worry and headed to the top of the stairs. 

“Bobby, what’s going on down—“

He jumped when he came face to face with Dean in the narrow doorway. His voice trailed to nothing as he stared into the vacant expression on Dean’s face. One look at Dean turned Sam’s stomach. “You alright? Where’s Bobby?”

Dean didn’t speak as he tried to duck around Sam. 

Sam blocked the doorway, his good arm bracing against the doorframe. “Dean?”

Without a word, Dean started swinging. His fist connected with Sam’s cheekbone, sending him back a few steps. “Dean, what the hell?”

Dean grabbed him by his shirt and laid another punch across his jaw, not stopping until Sam fell against the counter and slid to the floor. Dean lurched past him, heading for the door. Sam sat against the cabinet, clutching his shoulder, praying Bobby wasn’t going to sew him up a third time. He had to keep Dean from leaving, but he was having a hard time getting his feet under him and with his arm, he couldn’t even fight back. “Bobby! Get up here!”

Sam was climbing to his feet when Bobby appeared in the room. “Which way?”

Sam breathed through the pain in his shoulder and pointed. “Hallway.”

Bobby grunted and grabbed the first aid box from the table. He dumped it out and dug through the pile, grabbing one of the preloaded syringes from Marty before storming out of the room. He didn’t care what it took to keep Dean in the house; he wasn’t setting foot out the door if Bobby could help it. He’d threatened to break legs before and he was starting to think it might be their best option. Heck, maybe their only option. 

The sound of shattering glass caught his attention, making Bobby hurry through the house. He didn’t slow down as he walked through the shattered glass, the broken picture frame laying in pieces on the floor. He’d lost more useless knickknacks over the years than he could count…less to dust, in his mind. He hurried out the front door and stopped when Dean came into view. He was standing on the porch with his back to the open door. His body was rigid, his shoulders high and taut. His fists were clenched; Bobby could see blood covering his knuckles. He considered calling out to Dean, but hesitated. Dean obviously wasn’t himself, the stress of being in the panic room having set off one hell of a fight or flight reaction. 

He eased out onto the porch, holding a hand out to block Alice and Sam who were coming up behind him. He caught Sam’s eye and shook his head, motioning for them to stay put and out of sight. They watched as Dean stared across the yard, his gaze fixed on the Impala. Noise from the nearby highway reached them, music filtering through the air. A soft breeze swept over the yard, ruffling his hair. Bobby watched in amazement as Dean’s fists slowly uncurled, his shoulders drooping slightly at the apparent relief of being free of the confining space under the house. 

They watched as Dean’s fast paced breathing turned into slow, long breathes as he pulled in one after another of fresh air. He took one wobbly step down the steep steps before Bobby decided it was time to intervene. “Dean, stop.”

Dean’s head turned, casting an empty glance over his shoulder but not stopping as he took another step. 

“Dean, that’s far enough,” Bobby said as he took a step toward Dean. “You’re out…let’s just sit down. Here, we can all sit down on the steps and take a breather.”

He watched in frustration as Dean took another step down, his gaze locked on the Impala. “I have to go…”

“You have to stay here—with us,” Bobby said as he moved behind Dean, grabbing his shoulder. 

Dean let out a howl that set everyone’s teeth on edge. He turned on the narrow step, his arms coming up defensively, falling backwards as he did. Bobby grabbed him and pulled him close, griping him tightly in order to keep Dean’s arms down. “Stop, Dean! Stop fighting me, son. I’ve got you…you’re alright.”

“Bobby?” Dean stared up at him, his eyes terror filled as his knees buckled. Bobby stumbled with Dean’s weight and braced himself as they fell down the last three steps. Dean didn’t make a sound on impact. Bobby laid there on the ground, one hand firmly holding Dean’s arm, trying to regain the breath that had been knocked out of him. Alice and Sam moved to the edge of the porch and peered down at Bobby. 

“You alright, Bobby,” Sam called down as he clutched his own shoulder. 

“Idjit, do we look alright to you,” Bobby snapped. “This couldn’t get any—“

The sound of wheels on gravel made everyone freeze. Bobby rolled on his side and spotted the rusty Jeep headed up the driveway. “Balls! That’s it. Sam, get my gun—“

“Bobby! You can’t shoot your mailman—“

“Watch me! That man is a menace with impeccable timing,” Bobby spat as he fought to get to his feet. “Going to find himself on the wrong of my—“

“Bobby, we need a plan.” Sam gestured toward Dean as the Jeep pulled closer. “Kind of conspicuous, you know?”

“Just act natural,” Alice suggested with a shrug. 

“Alice, you’re soaked with sweat and your face is bruised beyond belief. Sam, your shoulder is bleeding again and your left eye is practically swollen shut! And look at Dean,” Bobby spat. “He’s—“

“Mr. Singer! I’ve got another interesting package for –,” the man’s voice faded as the Jeep came to a halt in front of the group. His gaze moved over them as his mouth fell open. “Mr. Singer?”

He adjusted his cap, looking uncomfortable as he surveyed his own appearance. Alice caught Bobby’s eye before smiling widely and walking down the steps. If she was anything, it was confident. Bobby still couldn’t believe some of the stories he had heard about her, but he appreciated her ability to bullshit people. She deliberately stepped over Dean, who was still lying motionless on the ground, his glassy eyes staring at the sky. She tossed her braid over her shoulder and wiped her dirty, bloody hands on her damp shirt as she stepped up to the Jeep. She paused in front of the man and deliberately dabbed at the blood on the corner of her mouth before clearing her throat. “Got anything from Tennessee? I’m expecting a box, should be addressed to Alice Hilty, care of Bobby Singer.”

The young man stared at her incredulously before hastily averting his gaze to the crate of mail on the passenger seat. “Umm…I know there is a box…somewhere,” he said nervously as he nervously dropped a handful of flyers from the crate. His curious gaze fixed on them once more. 

“There a problem,” Alice asked as she leaned against the Jeep’s door, leaning just far enough into the vehicle to make the mailman squirm. 

Sam cleared his throat and motioned with his non-bloody arm, catching the man’s attention. “If you could wrap this up, that’d be great.”

“Mr. Singer— is everything alright,” the man finally asked as he motioned to Dean, who had yet to move. 

“Fine, just fine,” Bobby murmured as he nudged Dean with his boot, trying to think of a way to get the mailman to leave without calling the cops. “You know how it is…people find out you have a unique collection of something, they want a piece.” 

“Your collection—wait—he was stealing a Barbie doll,” the man asked, disbelief on his face. Bobby instantly regretted the previous story he had told the mailman. He should have known it would come back and bite him in the ass, with an audience no less. Alice cocked her head and grinned wickedly at him. Bobby scowled at her and went back to imagining a deep grave for the mailman somewhere behind the garage; why on Earth had Bobby thought he would have forgotten about the Barbie doll comment already? 

With a straight face he hooked a thumb toward Sam. “He’s got the second biggest collection in the country. Wanted to buy me out, but I’m not selling! His brother wouldn’t take no for an answer,” he snapped as he gestured at Dean. “Damn shame he didn’t.”

Sam turned to Bobby, his face red with indignation. He didn’t know what Bobby was talking about, but he was glad Dean wasn’t aware enough to hear Bobby telling someone Sam collected Barbie dolls. Why did everyone pick dolls… always with the damn dolls.

Alice cast a curious glance at Sam before holding her hands out for the box the man held. “I’ll take that.”

He fumbled the box and held it out to Alice, cringing as their hands brushed. She hefted the box in one hand and smiled at the thick black Ho-Tu design on the underside. Abraham’s hand was getting steadier. 

“Thanks,” she said as she wiped a drop of blood from the package. “I appreciate it.” 

The man continued to stare at the group until Bobby walked to the Jeep. “You better get a move on… might get kinda ugly while we wait for the cops.”

They watched as he quickly shifted gears and took off, the Jeep kicking up dust and gravel as it sped from the yard. 

“Think he’s going to call the cops,” Sam asked as the taillights disappeared from view. 

“Not if he thinks I already did. If he does, we’ll just have to hope its Jody Mills that takes the call,” Bobby spat. “Let’s get back inside.”

Bobby and Alice hefted Dean between them, each one keeping their groans of discomfort to themselves. “Where you want him,” Alice asked as they maneuvered him through the door. 

“Couch,” Bobby grunted as Dean’s head narrowly missed a bookcase in the hallway. 

Dean didn’t move when they dropped him on the cushions. He continued to stare at the ceiling, making Bobby lean close and wave a hand over his face. “That doesn’t bode well,” he mumbled. “Sam, what do you make of this?”

Sam shook his head. “I thought you medicated him—that sedative from Marty.”

Bobby tossed the still full syringe on the coffee table between them. “Nope. He dropped like a stone all on his own when I grabbed him. Alice, you got any ideas?”

Alice looked up from her own bloody shirt, startled by the question. “This one is beyond me, Bobby. Seems more likely this one is physical, not supernatural. You know that’s more my thing. Call that doctor friend of yours.”

Bobby grumbled before reaching for his phone. “Hope he still does house calls.”

An hour later, Bobby, Alice, and Sam were pacing the porch; impatience and worry making their footfalls heavy. Doctor Fisher had been quicker to respond than Bobby had expected, his beat up pickup truck cruising into the yard only an hour after Bobby had asked a nurse to forward a message to him. Doctor Fisher had called Bobby on the way over, getting a short list of the events that had transpired. Upon arriving, he had taken one look at the bloody, worn out group, all clamoring to explain what had happened before marching them outside and slamming the door closed behind him. He was a man of action and listening to multiple sets of concerns did nothing but waste his time. 

“Once he’s gone, we’ll finish patching up Dean and then we’ll have to patch each other up,” Bobby stated as he glanced at the closed door again. “We can’t afford for any one of us to be laid up for long.” 

Sam nodded sullenly while Alice stared to the ends of her boots while she planned how to do her own patching up. “You get Sam squared away and I’ll check you over, Bobby.”

“Don’t forget Alice’s side,” Sam muttered as he glanced at the still closed door. 

She glanced up at him, her eyes narrowing slightly. She didn’t care much for being the one under scrutiny. The sound of the door opening interrupted her objection. “Someone needs to sit with him while we have a talk,” Dr. Fisher said as he stepped through the doorway. 

Alice moved silently through the doorway and disappeared into the dim house. 

“What the hell happened to that kid, Bobby,” he asked as he held up a hand to silence the sudden chatter. “I know what you told me, about the Fay. I’ve checked a lot of hunters in my day, but he’s been through the wringer pretty badly. Don’t suppose you’d let me admit him to the hospital for a few days?”

Sam immediately shook his head as Bobby crossed his arms over his chest. “We can’t.”

Dr. Fisher sighed before dropping his bag on the porch and folding his arms while staring at the two men. “Be best if you would. Aside from his physical injuries, of which there are plenty mind you, his mental state is in the shitter. From everything you all have told me and what I’ve seen from him, he’s in shock. He’s had enough and just shut down. No telling how long it could last.”

Sam sputtered in surprise. “Is there anything you can do for him? Something to snap him out of it maybe?”

Dr. Fisher’s dark eyes latched onto Sam, his face stern. “You already turned down the hospital. That was what I could do for him. You’ll need to keep him warm, comfortable, and for God’s sake don’t let whatever happened today happen again. No dark rooms, no loud noises, nothing that would cause him to panic again. His mind can’t take any more stimulation right now; no fear, no panic, no nothing. He’ll probably be having nightmares for a while, so you better sit in shifts with him. Get some fluids in him before he dehydrates. I’ll be back tomorrow. I’ll give you two days; if nothing changes, I’m taking him to the hospital and you won’t get in my way, understand me?”

Bobby nodded solemnly as the man spoke. He had known this man for decades, when he gave instructions, he meant them. As for taking Dean, Bobby had seen Fisher drag more than one unwilling hunter off to the hospital. 

“As for him snapping out of it, you’ll just have to wait. His body went into hardcore fight or flight but his mind opted to shut everything down instead. Self-preservation can be a mysterious thing… Now, it looks like you’ve ignored my discharge instructions, Mr. Winchester,” the man said as he stepped up and scrutinized the line of stitches that could be seen through the edges of Sam’s ripped shirt. “I told you no heavy lifting, no driving, and certainly no activities that would have led to this.” He pulled the collar of Sam’s shirt down and frowned as the dried blood pulled on the stitches. “Want to explain how you went from a concussion in my ER to this nasty bit of home medicine?”

Sam looked guiltily at the man. “We’ve had a few rough days.”

“I can see that,” Dr. Fisher said dryly as he moved onto Bobby. The men looked at each other, Bobby obviously not bothered or concerned by the man’s observation. “Anything I can help with? You look worse for wear as well.”

Bobby slowly shook his head. “We can manage our bumps and bruises, although Sam might need a more professional look at his shoulder. Dean, though…I might be calling you tonight if nothing changes.”

“That would be wise,” Dr. Fisher murmured as he looked at Sam. “You’ve got resources. Use them. Sam, I want you in my emergency room later for me to look at that mangled mess. And for God’s sake, Singer, get whatever this is finished before I have to send a fleet of ambulances out here for the lot of you!”

As taillights disappeared from the yard, Sam and Bobby headed for the couch. Dean was lying perfectly motionless, his blank eyes staring at the ceiling, seemingly unaware of the quilt being tucked firmly around him. Alice didn’t say anything as Bobby dragged a chair next to the couch, motioning for Sam to sit. 

Bobby dragged the first aid kit out and started picking broken glass from Dean’s feet. Sam carefully and meticulously set about cleaning Dean’s hands, occasionally borrowing the tweezers from Bobby to pull a few slivers of glass from Dean’s knuckles. They worked in silence, Bobby vaguely aware of Alice slipping out the back door with a small bag in her hand. Dean did nothing while they worked to clean his wounds, his unblinking eyes continued to stare at the ceiling. It was unnerving, but neither Sam nor Bobby spoke of it. They had all been laid up at some point, but Dean tended to excel at it. Alice had once joked that Dean’s blood type, emergency contact number, and favorite pie flavor should be tattooed on his chest; Bobby was starting to think it wouldn’t be a bad idea. 

Once Dean was wrapped back up in the quilt, Bobby turned to work on Sam, whose eyes never left Dean’s empty ones. It was slow steady work, the sound of scissors and the rattle of an ibuprofen bottle cutting into the heavy silence that had invaded the house. Bobby went looking for Alice once Sam started to lay Fay repellents around the room. They couldn’t afford to have their guard down, even if they were so close to an all-nighter in the local emergency room. 

Bobby slipped out the back door and headed to the garage, the dim light peeking under the door. He found Alice sitting on the hood of Chevelle, trying to tape a wad of gauze to her side. 

“Stubborn woman,” he said loudly as he approached her. She jumped at his words, frowning as he stepped close and scrutinized her handiwork. “That gauze looks kind of lopsided from here. Want some help?”  
“I’m not a natural lefty,” she ground out through a half smile. She didn’t want help. She had spent years doing everything on her own, preferring it to the nagging that came with partners. 

“Let me help.”

“I’m fine, Bobby. I’ll be back inside in a few minutes.”

“Not if you bleed to death on my Chevelle, you won’t be,” he said as he pushed her hands out of the way. Long gashes laced down one side of her torso, but something about them made Bobby hesitate. The edges had signs of healing, but had obviously been torn back open. 

“You came here already torn up from a hunt,” he snapped. “You want to tell me just how in the hell this happened?! And why I’m just now finding out about it?! Damn reckless!”

“The hunt in Florida I was working on? I got a little banged up—“

“More like torn to shreds—“

“Bobby! I swear it was healing fine until I got thrown around in the woods looking for those damn nettles. It got ripped open again, I patched it up with a few things earlier, but when Dean threw me down in the panic room…Well, this happened,” she said as she pulled the gauze away, blood sluggishly draining from the gashes. 

Bobby adjusted his cap. “And you didn’t think the damned licensed doctor would have been the right person to look at this? Damn it, Alice.”

“Don’t you lecture me, Bobby Singer. We’ve got enough going on between Sam and Dean.”

Bobby huffed in frustration. “Get your ass back inside. My house, my rules. I get to decide who keeps the damn secrets around here and it’s not you, or Sam, or Dean. Got it?!” 

Alice almost chuckled at his stern appearance but knew better. They might both be injured, but that wouldn’t keep Bobby from laying down the law in his house. She walked ahead of him, one hand firmly holding her bleeding side. It was going to need stitches. She and Bobby both knew it. 

Alice slipped back into the house and planted herself at the desk while Bobby began washing his hands. The high pile of books blocked Bobby’s view of her but he knew she was right back to the lore. The quiet sound of pages being methodically turned became a rhythm they all fell into. Sam didn’t speak as he continued to glance from Dean to the clock, constantly recalculating the minutes since Dean had last been alert. Knowing Alice was deliberately avoiding her turn, Bobby checked his own injuries over in the bathroom mirror. Bruises laced down one side of his chest, he knew the feeling of cracked ribs to well. With a sigh and a firm shake of his head, he headed to his troublesome houseguest. 

She didn’t look up as Bobby thumped a chair down beside her, dropping the first aid kit on the book in front of her. “Let’s get this over with,” he muttered as he motioned to the box. 

She shoved the box off of the book and turned to look up at Bobby, watching his face carefully. “How did you get Dean shaken loose, Bobby? When he ended up in Virginia. That must have taken some serious mojo. Who did you call?”

Bobby shook his head as he glanced across the room at Sam. He must have talked to her about that. “An acquaintance,” he said, his voice firm as he pulled the stitch kit from the box. “Unbutton your over shirt so I can see what the hell I’m doing.”

“Don’t you think that anyone who can help us now might be worth a phone call,” Alice pressed as she slowly pulled her over shirt off before dropping it to the floor. Just one more shirt for the garbage can. 

“Not this time I don’t,” Bobby snapped. “I’m sure Sam covered my feelings on the matter when he talked to you about it.” 

“He did. I was hoping to change your mind.”

“Not going to happen.”

“Does this person have any ability to find the Fay? Maybe get us a face to face meeting? Or—“

“Alice, we are not going to ask for anything more from this person, you hear me? Now, before you bleed on my leather chair, let’s get this done, alright? I don’t want to hear another goddamn word about it!”

Alice bit her tongue, anger boiling inside. It wasn’t like Bobby to hold out on sharing information. 

“We need to start sleeping in shifts, so the sooner we can get this over with, the sooner we can get some shut eye,” Bobby snapped as he threaded the needle. 

She glanced over the pile of books to see Sam finally asleep in the chair, one hand on Dean’s chest; a pose familiar between the two brothers. “Think we can figure this out?”

“Not a doubt in my mind,” Bobby stated firmly with a quick glance toward the boys. “And now is not the time to start second guessing ourselves, got it?”

She nodded slowly, the thought obviously on her mind. “We need a plan.”

Bobby nodded and adjusted his position as he pushed the needle through torn flesh. “We have one. We’re going to keep Dean here while we get our hands on Crowley…We need to add more Fay repellents around the house. I’d rather put Dean back in the panic room with all the iron surrounding him but…there’s no way to get him down there now in his condition.”

“Don’t forget the room is in shambles, Bobby, he literally destroyed everything in it,” Alice ground out thrown gritted teeth. Bobby wasn’t taking his usual time with the needle, his hands moving quickly as he tried to finish the job. “Besides, he’d probably freak back out.”

Bobby grunted as he taped gauze over the mess. “I’ll go get the herbs, you find the box of stuff Sam had earlier.” 

They spent the next hour laying iron bars and silver bells in the windows and doorways before crushing herbs and sprinkling them around the house. Bobby tied red ribbons to Dean’s wrists and ankles before stuffing a piece of bread in his pocket. His green eyes were laced with exhaustion as he continued to stare at the ceiling, his hands moving ever so slightly over the quilt. 

“Dean? Can you hear me,” Bobby asked quietly, keeping his voice low. Sam twitched in the chair but didn’t wake. Dean’s eyes slid closed before his hands stilled. 

“Any change,” Alice asked from across the room. 

“Nothing to get excited over,” Bobby ground out. “Hopefully he’ll get some decent rest and sleep it off.”

They sat around the kitchen table, both silent as they eyed the notes they had taken earlier in the day. Bobby could see Alice wasn’t done digging about Charlotte. Her curiosity wasn’t enough to make him relent and give out her contact information but an hour of listening to her sigh was enough to get under his skin. 

“Fine! What is it,” he ground out, as he tossed a stack of notes back down on the table. 

“What,” she asked, confused, as she looked up from her own notes. 

“Let’s hear it. You’ve got some point you want to make, so let’s hear it so I can get back to reading in moderate peace,” Bobby snapped as he leaned back in his chair. 

“What if we’re making a huge mistake,” she suddenly asked as she leaned on her arms, glancing into the other room at the boys. “Other than a face to face with the Fay the other only option we seem to have is talking to Crowley…what if that tips the scales out of our favor? Right now, does Crowley even know Dean is a Tiend? Probably not…so if we tell him that, confirm it, then why in our right minds would we assume Crowley would help us fight the Fay? Or keep Dean from Hell when he’s won him fair and square based on some ancient agreement between Lucifer and the First Fay?” 

Bobby kept silent, his eyes narrowing as she spoke. “If Crowley will help us—“

“But why would he?! Is there any prize that Crowley wants more than a Winchester? And if you have some knowledge of one, now is the prime to speak up, Bobby!”

Bobby glanced at the boys. “No, I don’t have anything he would want more. But we need to know what Crowley knows about this deal and no one is going to know the red tape better than him. If there is a way to keep Dean from the Fay, he’ll be the one to know.”

Alice frowned and shrugged. “Bobby, this is a clear cut case of Crowley getting a Winchester back into Hell without having to make a single move. He’s going to bag the biggest prize, without even knowing it. And if he does know what’s going on, all he has to do it wait for the Fay to deliver. We aren’t going to find anything to help us. Not in the Fay lore.”

Bobby sighed and tossed the notes in a pile. With just a few words, Alice had reduced them from lifesaving information to worthless scraps of paper. “You’re right. There’s nothing Crowley wants more than a Winchester in the pit. Unless we find a way to strike a better bargain with Crowley than the Fay…”

“How do we do that?”

“Not a clue,” Bobby muttered. “How are we supposed to compete with a delivery of hundreds of souls, including one that happens to be a Winchester?”

Without another word, Alice watched as Bobby grabbed a bottle of whiskey and headed for the cellar. He didn’t say anything, defeat on his face as he disappeared into the dark, the door slamming behind him. She fell back against the chair and sighed, rubbing a hand over her face. She was exhausted. They all were. 

She sat thumbing through another volume when she realized what he had said. He was right. They did need to know what Crowley knew but she was willing to bet that he wasn’t the only one who would know details. Ignoring Bobby’s previous warnings and threats, she began yanking on desk drawers until she found one that was locked. With a quick glance to make sure the boys were still sleeping, she pried the lock open and dumped the contents on the desk. Hearing Bobby on the cellar stairs again, she scrambled to grab the stone and map before taking off for the front door. 

There was no going back; the broken lock on the drawer guaranteed an argument with Bobby, but there was no reason they had to have it now. She grabbed her jacket as she rounded the staircase, pulling her keys from the pocket. As she crossed the door’s threshold, the sound of Bobby yelling her name made her hit the ground running. She heard the screen door slam behind her, his threats suddenly drowned out by the sound of her motorcycle as it slid across the gravel and out of sight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I, for one, am really excited to see what all happens in the next chapter. They have Dean for the moment. Bobby is getting cranky. Alice has the scrying stone. She probably doesn’t remember that she still has that nasty little hex bag in her pocket from Bobby….I bet he remembers it though. Wonder what happens if….  
> Thanks for reading!! And for those that write reviews, you’re my most favorite in the universe.


	23. Charlotte's Web

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You’re most likely going to find mistakes of unreasonable stupidity in this chapter. Be warned.

Sioux Falls, South Dakota 

Burdened with the dread of knowing she’d have to deal with Bobby later, Alice headed for the interstate as she tried to think of someplace she could use the scrying stone. After passing run down houses, businesses closed for the night, and miles of undeveloped land, the neon glow from a bar near the interstate caught her attention. As her cell phone rang in her pocket, she eased to the side of the road and pulled it out of her pocket. She knew it was risky to slow down, much less stop; Bobby ultimately knew where the map would take her. If he wanted to stop her badly enough, he could catch up to her. She killed the engine and took a deep breath before answering. 

“Bobby, hear me out—“

“You use that stone and I’ll make damn sure you regret—“

Without a word, Alice dropped the call and stuffed the phone back into her pocket. She waited anxiously for a truck to pass her; she knew that in the dim light she wouldn’t be able to identify Bobby’s truck until it was bearing down on her. With a sigh of relief as it passed her by, she pulled back onto the highway. She wondered if her plan was worth the damage to her friendship with Bobby. She didn’t have many friends and she couldn’t afford to lose any more of them. She didn’t want to think of what Bobby would do about it, he could have a temper when someone crossed a line. Stealing his stuff wasn’t just toeing the line; it was jumping over it and setting it on fire. 

She glanced around the bar’s packed parking lot before spreading the map out on the hood of a pickup truck parked under the ugly green and blue lights. She hadn’t used a scrying stone in ages. Over years of being used by one person, they tended to get finicky when in new hands. Glancing around to make sure no one was around to watch her, she pulled the silver chain from her pocket, the dangling stone glowing in the muted light. She held the chain over the crinkled map and muttered the necessary words. 

Nothing happened. She rolled her shoulders, concentrated on the stone, and tried again. Still, the stone hung like a dead weight on the end of the silver chain. 

She held the stone up in the dim light, scrutinizing it; it wasn’t cracked or chipped. She held it over the map and repeated the words, louder this time. Although the stone was supposed to swing across the map to reveal the desired location, nothing happened. As her anger began to rise, heat flashed across her skin. She glared up at the sky and took a deep breath to calm down. “Let’s try this again.”

Taking the stone in hand, she rolled it back and forth until the stone was warm to the touch.

“Finicky thing,” she muttered as she held the end of the chain again, the stone dangling over the map. She muttered the words a fourth time and waited, gritting her teeth when nothing happened. 

“Geez, what the hell has Bobby done to this thing,” she muttered as she smacked the stone against the hood of the truck. “Work dammit!”

She rolled her shoulders and took a deep breath, exhaling slowly as she dangled the stone on its chain. “Come on; just pick a damn spot on the damn map already.”

Ignoring the ringing phone in her pocket, she closed her eyes and took another deep breath. She needed to concentrate. Being panicky or even impatient could mess up the accuracy of scrying. She whispered the words and waited. This time the stone began to slowly swing back and forth on its silver chain before suddenly landing on a spot on the map. Alice squinted in the dim light. Vermillion. Not an exact address but she could work with that. She folded the map back up and slipped it into her pocket with the stone before heading back to her motorcycle. 

Two miles outside of Sioux Falls; her motorcycle stalled, rolling to a slow stop in the middle of the road. Cursing, she pushed her bike to the side of the road and tried to determine what was wrong. Nothing she did made a difference. It was dead. After a half hour of pushing the bike up the interstate, she gave up and considered calling Sam. He could at least get her to Vermillion. She pulled her phone from her pocket and frowned as a small bundle of fabric fell onto the pavement. She turned it over in her hand, trying to see the markings in the dim light. It was the leather bag Bobby had given her when she had arrived at his house, allowing her to come and go unaffected by the new deterrents that protected his house. A modified hex bag, he had said at the time. 

“Bobby, you asshole,” she spat when she remembered Bobby’s threat of using it as a real hex bag if she got in his way. She angrily ripped the bag apart and tossed it on the ground. She crushed the contents with her boot, breaking the small bones before using her lighter to set the pile of on fire. Seething with anger, she called Bobby as she stomped the fire out with her boot. 

“Where the hell are you,” Bobby snapped into the phone, answering on the first ring.

“A hex bag, Bobby? Is that the best you can do,” Alice snarled into the phone before dropping the call and climbing back on her motorcycle. 

Vermillion, South Dakota

It was the earlier hours of the morning when Alice finally discovered her destination. Not having an exact address had left her in a lurch so she had turned to the likely source for information. The brightly lit sign of a hand cast an eerie glow over the man she passed as she exited the fortune telling parlor. She wasn’t a fan of anyone who could truly read palms; although like so many, this person wasn’t truly gifted. She had been just another charlatan with enough knowledge to make her dangerous. A few bills on the table had been enough to get Alice the address of the local demon den. Another two had gotten her their private phone number. Alice wasn’t surprised when it rang only once, the typical sounds of a bar filtering through the phone. 

“She has an opening at dawn. Don’t be late,” a smooth, British voice crooned into the phone before hanging up. She slipped her phone back into her pocket and frowned. Either that number was for some prostitute’s pimp or Bobby’s contact had staff. Somehow, she couldn’t imagine Bobby picking up a prostitute; that left the likely possibility that his contact was not acting independently. Normally, that meant taking along back-up, which she wasn’t going to do. There wasn’t anyone to call, certainly not Bobby or Sam, and Dean…well, Dean wasn’t up for anything at the moment. She was on her own, just as she liked. 

Sioux Falls, South Dakota

Bobby stared across the dark yard, wondering if Alice had found her way to Charlotte yet. There was no doubt she would find her; Alice was resourceful. It hadn’t helped that he had provided her the scrying stone, even if he hadn’t meant to. He hadn’t been sure of what would happen when he enabled the hex bag, but somehow he knew it hadn’t been completely effective in stopping her. Not that he wanted to kill Alice; he’d have to settle for slowing her down some. Maybe teach her a lesson, which he doubted she’d bother to learn. She was used to doing things her own way, much like him. 

He glanced back at the front door, propped open so he could hear anything if Sam or Dean woke up. He wanted to go after her except that would have meant leaving behind Sam and Dean and neither one was up to fighting off the Fay if they showed up to take Dean. There wasn’t anyone close enough to call to help him out. He couldn’t ask anyone else to deal with Alice and Charlotte; those two were bound to be a bad combination. As for someone babysitting the boys, no one local would up for fighting a force they had only managed to identify. Besides, if he left the house Sam would most likely fight to come with him. That wasn’t going to happen. No, he would just have to wait and see what Alice would come up with. Who knows, maybe she would find something to help Dean after all; but it didn’t mean he couldn’t be angry as hell about her running off with his stone. 

“Damn kids,” he muttered as he stared out across the yard. It didn’t matter that Alice was by far older than him; her youthful face only made it easier to forget that she should know better than to do something so stupid. Bobby headed for his desk, dropping into the chair as he glanced at the boys. They were still right where they had been a few hours ago. He stared at the upturned drawer with its mangled lock still sitting on top of his desk. He hadn’t even needed to see what was missing from the drawer; there was only one thing inside worth anything to Alice. Bobby kicked himself as he began tossing the mess back into the drawer. He had reminded himself a dozen times to move the scrying stone since Sam had found the damn thing but he hadn’t gotten around to it. Now it was to late. 

He briefly wondered what Alice and Charlotte would make of each other. He knew Charlotte hadn’t ever encountered someone like Alice before, not many had. And chances were the same that Alice hadn’t ever met anyone like Charlotte either. He considered calling Alice, giving her a heads up about Charlotte’s way, but decided against it. Some things just had to be seen for oneself. 

Vermillion, South Dakota 

Alice sped through the dark, briefly wondering if she had enough cash for this kind of meeting. She cruised into the parking lot, killing the engine as she pulled a wad of cash and a pistol from her duffel bag. There were a dozen or more cars still in the parking lot, but the early morning was quiet as she approached the front door of the rundown building. The dark man standing at the door didn’t smile as she walked up, his dark glasses hiding his eyes. 

“Haven’t seen the likes of you around here before,” he mused as his head turned toward her. “Not a demon. Deity? Or something new, perhaps?”

“Not a demon, not a deity, and not new,” Alice snapped, wondering if this was a normal part of getting inside the building. She didn’t like anyone who could see beyond what she wanted them to see. She had secrets and she meant for them to stay that way. “And you won’t see me here again after tonight.”

He chuckled. “Don’t make a promise you won’t be able to keep.”

Alice frowned and reached for the door, stepping back as he moved in her way. 

“You’re not ancient,” he ground out, removing the dark glasses covering his white eyes. “You’re older than some, sure; but a youngster compared to others, with a new face too. Are there are others like you?”

“No,” she snapped as she held out the cash. “Just me.”

“No cash. Not from you,” the man said with a frown as he cocked his head, his pearl colored eyes staring into her. “Your way inside is paid in full. As for getting what you came for, let’s see if you and Charlotte can settle on a fair price.”

Alice frowned at his words and pulled the door open as he moved to the side. “Oh, and little girl….that pistol you’re carrying won’t help you any once you’re inside. Use it and you’ll never walk out of here,” he said quietly as she slipped past him. 

Her frown deepened at the sight of the building’s interior; for having so many cars outside, no one, not even the bartender, was in sight. She headed for the door on the back wall, a small bit of light peaking around the edges. Opening the door and slipping inside, Alice was reminded how much she disliked hippies and psychics. Burned incense hung heavy in the air, the smoke making it hard to see across the room. She dropped into the chair and waited. Someone had put on quite the show, trying to scare her. 

She looked at the clock on the wall and set her cash on the low table in front of her before cocking the pistol and setting in next to the cash. “You’ve got until the count of ten before I walk out of here and burn this shithole to the ground,” Alice called out. She hated waiting. 

A small lamp on the table flickered to life, illuminating a woman sitting across the table from Alice. “Patience is a virtue,” Charlotte crooned, her dark eyes settling on Alice, curiosity crossing her face. “But by the looks of you, you have all the time in the world.”

“And lost time is never found. We going to swap one liner’s all day or get down to business,” Alice retorted, ignoring the rest of her comment. If Charlotte didn’t know what she was, she wanted to keep it that way. “Either you can help me or you’re wasting my time. Which is it going to be?”

Charlotte stared at Alice, her smile fading slightly. “For someone with as much time as you have, you seem to be in a rush,” Charlotte mused, her vision seemingly going right through Alice. “I’d almost guess you’re rushing for a reason. Trying to save someone maybe? Someone with far less time than you?”

“I’m here for information. Now, you can name a price or I can—“

Charlotte silenced her with a wave of her hand. “You’re something new…but not new all the same. Seen Mother Eve, lately?”

Alice frowned at the reference. She remembered it being nothing she wanted to mess with. Any mentions of a Mother or Eve were unwelcome. “No, and if you ask again what I am, I’ll make sure I’m the last thing you see. You can take your questions to a shallow grave.”

Charlotte shrugged carelessly. “Have it your way, I was just trying to find some ground to negotiate on. I always like to know what I’m dealing with before striking a deal.”

“I’ve got cash.”

“Cash has been out of style for some time now,” Charlotte said as she motioned to the cash next to the pistol. “Who gave you my name?”

“Bobby Singer,” Alice said, watching the woman carefully. 

A knowing grin passed over the woman’s face before she nodded. “Bobby does like to pay his debts. So, what kind of deal can I interest you in?” 

“Deal?”

“Yes, a deal,” Charlotte replied as she gazed at Alice. “That’s why people come here. To make deals. I don’t do freebies. You want something from me, we make a deal for it.”

“And what kind of deal did Bobby’s make,” Alice asked. 

“Oh, I never kiss and tell. But it wasn’t a high price, not enough for what he wanted. I made something of a discount for him. We’re old friends you see, we go way back,” Charlotte said through a thin smile. “What kind of deal are you looking for?” 

Alice hesitated. She wasn’t sure just how far she’d get before she’d have to negotiate payment. And she still wasn’t sure of what exactly she wanted from Charlotte. “Information, mostly. Maybe more,” she stated. “Anything more will depend on what kind of information you can get me.”

“Very mysterious,” Charlotte said coolly, her smile barely covering her eagerness. “And what kind of information are you looking for? Need to end a lover’s quarrel? Make a husband disappear? Or maybe—“

“Or maybe you can keep the sinister romances for the desperate housewives,” Alice snapped with a roll of her eyes. She hated idle chit chat. ”I need information about a deal going down between the King of Hell and the Fay. Nothing more, nothing less.”

Even though her smile widened, Charlotte’s voice faltered. “The King of Hell? That’s quite a tall order from someone I’ve just met…. Expensive too.”

“And just what do you take in payment? Shells? Beads? Flesh and blood,” Alice asked sarcastically as she folded her arms over her chest. “Souls, maybe?”

Charlotte laughed, the room suddenly seeming colder and darker. “Look around you. This isn’t some dusty old crossroads,” Charlotte replied as her hand swept across the room. “I’m no demon.”

“But you do work for one, don’t you,” crooned a voice from behind Alice. It was British, smooth, and almost icy in tone. “Or have you forgotten about your own deal, Charlotte?”

Alice didn’t turn around, her eyes glued on Charlotte who had suddenly become solemn and quiet in her seat across the table. Even as Charlotte tried to remain passive to the intruder, Alice didn’t miss the fear that crossed her face before she settled further into her chair. 

“You might find it hard to collect a soul from this one,” he said to Charlotte as he stepped next to Alice, gesturing at her without looking at her. He turned and looked down at Alice, amusement on his face. “You can’t give away what you don’t have the rights for. Isn’t that right?”

Alice didn’t respond as she kept her eyes on Charlotte. “Name your price.”

“It appears you’re going to get a rare chance to negotiate with the King himself,” Charlotte said as she jumped from her chair and moved to the corner of the room, her eyes downcast. 

The man moved to sit down, adjusting his suit jacket as he did. “Any friend of Bobby’s is a friend of mine,” he said with an amused smile. “So I hear you have an interest in my business with the Fay.”

Alice’s eyes narrowed as he sat down. She had always avoided any direct contact with Crowley when she needed something. This wasn’t going according to her plan. She needed to find out details of the Fay’s tithe without Crowley finding out that Dean was part of the deal. This kind of unforeseen hiccup could ruin everything. Or at least send Bobby into a daylong rant about her messing things up.

But on the other hand…Bobby had suggested calling Crowley up and flat out asking him about the tithe. She eyed the man sitting across from her before adjusted herself in the chair and shrugging off her hesitation. She could handle this. 

“I have a few questions about the fine print of your deal,” Alice stated, leaning back into the chair, appearing relaxed. She knew how this went. Whoever could power play the best would leave with what they wanted. “I want to read the contract, in full.”

“Well, sweetheart, that is privileged information,” he said. “Maybe you tell me what you already know about my deal with the Fay and I’ll see about filling in the gaps.”

Alice didn’t take the bait. Information wasn’t free, even for the King of Hell. Everything had a price. 

“First we negotiate a price,” Alice said firmly. 

“Just like Bobby,” Crowley stated. “Always down to business, never any small talk. That’s no way to develop a good business relationship, now is it?”

“This isn’t a business relationship that needs developing. This is just business. A one-time thing.”

“A pity.” Crowley leaned across the table. “So, down to business then. What can you offer as payment? As Charlotte explained, cash isn’t good enough. Not for this kind of deal. And your soul, well, that’s not even an option; is it?”

Alice knew what it would take. It was the only thing of value she could offer right about now. “A trade. Information for information.”

“I am the bloody King of bloody Hell. Anything I want to know, I simply find out.”

“I doubt that,” Alice retorted. 

He thought for a minute before signaling Charlotte to leave the room. “And the terms of our exchange?”

“I get to read the contract. Not a copy, but the original,” Alice said, folding her arms over her chest. “Or I leave now.”

“And what do I get out of this deal? What information do you have that I could possibly want?”

Alice considered her options. “What I know about the Fay deal.” 

Crowley shook his head in amusement. “Doesn’t matter what you know about the Fay deal. They’ll pay on time, or they won’t. And here’s the thing. I’m curious. Charlotte was right. We’ve not seen the likes of your kind in here before. So, what are you?”

Alice didn’t reply. 

“Maybe you’re a double agent for the Fay? A messenger from Eve? A deity who’s been asleep to long? Or maybe a hunter who’s gone a little to far into the darkness?”

Alice stiffened at the comment. “No. Human.”

“You were. But not anymore.” Crowley snapped his fingers, a well-dressed man instantly appearing beside him. Alice spotted the roll of parchment in his hand; undoubtedly it was the contract she needed. 

She decided to take a different approach. “I take it you’re aware that the Fay are having trouble getting their last man.”

Crowley adjusted his suit jacket. He didn’t care if the Fay couldn’t find the last man. He wanted a Fay in the bargain, not simply another man. Men he could find. Fay were scarce. “And?”

“I know who it is.”

“And why would it matter to me? They’ll find him, add him to the others, and I’ll find out soon enough anyhow.”

“So then, if not the name of the last man, what can I offer you in trade,” Alice asked. 

“It’s simple. I want to know who holds the contract on your soul,” he said as he leaned forward in his chair, staring at her. “I can see it in there, bright and bruised around the edges, but someone else holds ownership of it. Very unusual. I want to know who is edging into my territory. Who is it?”

“Is there any way to stop the Fay from making payment to you,” Alice demanded, ignoring his question. 

“No. It’s binding. They don’t pay and there are consequences. That’s what makes it a bloody contract,” Crowley spat. “Now, why are you so interested in the contract with the Fay?”

“I know someone they want,” Alice stated, wondering how much detail she could omit before Crowley would catch on. 

“Ah, the last man you mentioned,” Crowley stated with a nod. “Care to tell me who it is?”

“No, not if I don’t have to,” Alice said as she stood from the table. “And if you don’t want to give me that scroll, you’re wasting my time.”

Crowley let her get all the way to the door before he said, “You tell me who holds ownership of your soul and I’ll let you read my contract with the Fay.”

Alice turned on her heel and stared at the scroll in his hand, considering her options. More importantly, Dean’s options. “And I want you to tell me how we get them to take someone else.”

Crowley laughed. “You don’t. One thing about the Fay, they have excellent taste when it comes to selecting souls. When they want someone, they take them.”

Alice frowned at his words. “Fine. Give me the contract.”

Crowley smirked and placed the parchment in her hand. “And now for your part of our deal. Who holds a contract on your soul?”

The words were bitter on her tongue. “Bobby Singer,” she said, feeling her face get and her stomach turn. Only she and Bobby had been left knowing the truth, John had taken their secret to his grave; now she’d have to contend with Crowley knowing as well. Alice knew she’d end up regretting the price she had paid. 

“Looks like I underestimated him,” Crowley stated, even though his face didn’t betray his thoughts. He would do some digging of his own. 

Alice turned and headed for the door, the scroll tightly gripped in her hand. She wanted to burn the place to the ground. She felt dirty. 

“The deal was for you to read the contract, not take it,” Crowley called after her, not moving from his chair.

“I said I’d read it, I didn’t say when or where I’d read it,” she called out as she left without a backwards glance. “It’s called a loophole. I’m sure you know all about them.”

Sioux Falls, South Dakota

Back at the house, Bobby was tearing through his contacts looking for anyone who was close enough to help out. Alice wasn’t answering her phone; he couldn’t even be sure she was still alive. Not everyone who visited Charlotte returned home. Garth and Marty were too far out and Jim Walsh was helping with another Wendigo case in South Carolina. His hands froze as he turned another page, a soft sound catching his ears. He glanced toward the boys; they were still asleep. A floorboard creaked overhead before silence took over the house again. He turned another page before hearing the sound again. The overhead light flickered once as he reached for his shotgun. 

Either their Fay repellents hadn’t worked or something else was in the house. Bobby moved to Sam and shook him awake, motioning for him to be quiet.

“Bobby, what’s wrong,” Sam whispered as he took the pistol Bobby held out. 

“Something’s moving upstairs,” Bobby whispered back as he motioned toward Dean. “Watch him.”

Sam climbed to his feet and moved to protect Dean while Bobby crept through the hallway toward the stairs. Another sound caught Bobby’s attention, this time at the top of the stairs. It was the familiar sound of someone clearing their throat. 

Bobby lowered his gun and flipped on the stairway light. Crowley stood at the top of the stairs, lightly brushing dust off his jacket. “Is there any place in this dump not falling apart?”

“How the hell did you get in here,” Bobby snapped. 

“King of Hell, remember,” Crowley stated as he leaned against the railing. “I don’t know who you’ve pissed off this time, but the whole place stinks of weeds.”

“What do you want,” Bobby ground out. If Crowley decided to come downstairs he’d find Dean. If the smell of the herbs hadn’t completely given away their predicament, the ribbons and bells tied to Dean might. Surely Crowley knew enough about the Fay to recognize when someone was trying to keep them away. 

“Where is she,” Crowley asked as he adjusted his suit jacket and brushed some dust from the cuff. He’d have to have it dry cleaned now. 

“Who,” Bobby asked. Maybe Crowley wasn’t here Dean or the Fay after all. 

“A woman with red hair, drives a motorcycle, and curiously enough seems to be missing the rights to her soul,” Crowley mused aloud as he stared to Bobby. “Any thoughts on where I can find such a person?”

Bobby was almost relieved. If Crowley was looking for Alice, she had walked out of her meeting with Charlotte. “Not a clue. I haven’t seen her in a while.”

“She tried to strike a bargain with Charlotte earlier this morning,” Crowley explained. “Luckily, I was around to negotiate the terms of the deal.”

Bobby didn’t say anything; his eyes narrowing at Crowley’s words. 

“She’s unusual. Given her circumstances, I’d bet a hundred souls you’ve gone out of your way to keep her out of sight,” Crowley muttered as he began a slow walk down the stairs. “Now, I think a little chat is in order. Did you think I wouldn’t find out about some hunter taking the rights to a soul? Whatever happened to professional courtesy?”

Sam slowly stepped up beside Bobby. He didn’t know what was going on, but he wanted to hear what was going on.

“What did Alice want from Charlotte,” Sam asked. 

“She tried to strike a bargain but came up a little short,” Crowley said, his eyes locked on Bobby’s. “Care to explain how a hunter such as yourself—”

“Sam, go check your brother,” Bobby ground out. He was getting an idea of what Crowley wanted to talk about and the fewer people who knew about it, the better. 

Sam shuffled his feet, obviously curious about what was going on. 

“Sam! I said to check on Dean,” Bobby snapped, glaring at Sam. 

Sam shuffled out of sight but not before muttering, “She should be back by now.”

“Where is she,” Bobby snapped. 

Crowley shrugged carelessly as he reached the bottom step. “She bargained for a chance to read the Fay contract. Now she’s run off with it.”

“And the King of Hell can’t find her?”

“Oh I intend to find her. She’ll be here soon, no doubt. Now, this deal happens only so often and I have never had this much chatter about a simple Fay payment which makes me wonder… with the deadline so soon, I’m going to assume there is something valuable at stake,” Crowley mused as he brushed past Bobby. “Or maybe I’m wrong and it’s not something—but someone.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so it’s moving slower. Sorry. I’ve been dreading sorting out the end, mostly because there are sooooo many ways to solve their problem once we figure out who gets to take the trip to Hell. Should Dean go and be tallied with the rest? Or should a Fay go and end up giving Crowley the base ingredient for a new First Demon? Hmmmmmm…..The possibilities are full of curiously delicious problems.


	24. Make a Suggestion. I have no clue!!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m struggling to find my inner writer again. Bear with me. WHERE THE FUCK DID YOU RUN OFF TO?! Oh-and-- I’ve been torn about which road to take to solving the numerous problems we have before us. Feel free to let me know what your thoughts are on the events to come. I could use some feedback as I navigate this!

Sioux Falls, South Dakota  
Bobby watched as Crowley crossed the room and stopped in front of Dean, leering down over him; Dean hadn’t so much as muttered a word with all the noise. He was still; his only movement was the rise and fall of his chest. Sam leaned against the desk, vigilant but curious how Crowley would react to his discovery. 

“So this is why all the fuss over the Fay payment,” Crowley said as he stared down at Dean. “It’s no wonder the Fay are all scrambling to find their last man. It’s Dean bloody Winchester!”

Neither Bobby nor Sam said anything, not really sure if Crowley would be willing to strike a deal to keep Dean out of Hell in exchange for something else. Anything else. 

Crowley laughed. “This is unbelievable! What a stroke of luck for me, aye?”

Sam shifted on his feet, hatred instantly boiling in him. Bobby motioned for him to stay put; ignoring the anger on his face. They all wanted to take a shot at Crowley, but they’d have to wait for a time when they didn’t need his help. 

“I heard the Fay use all sorts of nasty tricks to gather the Teinds and if I were a betting man….I’d bet that you all have been running around like headless chickens trying to keep him in sight,” Crowley mused as he pulled a red ribbon from Dean’s wrist. “Who would have guessed that the Fay marked this troublesome one? Bet they’ve not met this kind of resistance since…well, maybe ever!”

“I wouldn’t doubt it,” Bobby muttered. “Don’t be getting giddy just yet. It’s not over. We’ve got time yet to save him.”

“Do you now? I suppose you’re not currently aware of just how close I am to taking ownership of the tithe,” Crowley said with a crooked grin. “It’s a contract, I’m bound to do my part.”

“Like hell you are,” a raspy voice muttered. All eyes turned to Dean but his were locked onto Crowley. He tried to ignore the searing aching in his muscles and the heaviness of his bones. He moved to sit up, but groaned as the pain in his chest grew. He felt bruised. 

“Dean,” Sam said as he moved to him. “Take it easy. We can handle this.”

“Don’t touch me,” Dean snapped; his voice raw. He pulled back from Sam, his eyes bright as he surveyed the room. 

“If I wanted Dean Winchester in the Pit I wouldn’t need the bloody Fay to do it for me,” Crowley said as he peered around Sam at Dean. Bobby watched as Crowley continued to stare down at Dean, his expression slowly changing to a slight frown. “A shame though…,” Crowley muttered as he moved to the desk and sat down. He picked through the books on the desk before tossing one down, his face suddenly solemn. “I see you’ve been looking for a way to keep Dean from the Fay. Any luck?”

“If we had, why would we tell you,” Bobby snapped as he moved between Dean and Crowley. 

“Maybe I’ve got reasons for not wanting a Winchester in Hell.” 

“Bullshit! You’ve been angling to get the Winchesters out of your way since you first climbed out of that pit,” Bobby said. 

“Right you are,” Crowley retorted. “But on my terms. My timing. I know for a fact that the Fay are having a hard time keeping their hands on their last man, which—don’t lie to me—is obviously squirrel here. They mark their men so they can collect them when it’s time to cull the payment. He was probably marked some time ago. Years even.”

“What’s your point,” Bobby snapped. 

“Now, I know the mark was burned off him,” Crowley said confidently as he flipped aimlessly through one of the books. “I’ve spoken with the Fay. You’ve been giving them quite a hard time in fulfilling their contract with Hell.”

“And,” Bobby demanded. 

“And…what if I could help you,” Crowley said with a gesture towards Dean. “Surely he’s not interested in going to Hell. Are you Dean?”

Dean couldn’t bring his eyes up from the floor. “No.”

“Do you know of a way to keep the Fay from taking someone,” Bobby demanded. 

Crowley leaned back in the chair, his arms crossed over his chest. “I’ve never needed to stop them from fulfilling their contract. But I’m confident that if a way exists, you’ll find it. You’ve got all the motivation anyone could ever need.”

“And why would you want to help us,” Sam asked suspiciously. “What are you getting out of this?”

“I’d have thought that would have been obvious,” Crowley stated. “I’ve got a bigger prize in mind.” 

“What do you—,” Sam stopped midsentence. “You mean a Fay? You think if we can keep Dean here, you’ll get a Fay in the deal.”

“And your powerful skills of deduction thwart me yet again, college boy. Keep an eye on him or I’ll be throwing him a real welcome party in Hell,” Crowley crooned with a smirk before he simply disappeared. 

“What the hell are we going to do,” Sam asked looking down at Dean. 

“Find me a way out,” Dean whispered, his eyes filled with fear. “I don’t care how.”

It was midmorning when Sam heard the sound of a vehicle outside. He didn’t slow down at he pushed past Bobby to rush to the door. He flung it open and came face to face with Alice. “Where the hell have you been,” he demanded. “We’ve been calling you since last night!”

Alice’s shrugged, a pained look crossing her face as she did. “Bad cell reception?”

“That’s bullshit Alice,” Sam exclaimed. “What was so important that you couldn’t answer the goddamn phone?!”

Before Sam could blink, Alice held up a worn scroll, the parchment tattered and stained. “How about the original Fay contract with Lucifer?”

“What did you do to get that,” Sam asked angrily. “Break into Hell itself?”

“Sam, give her a break. I’m going to need Bobby to help me unload her motorcycle from the back of my truck,” Dr. Fisher called out as he climbed the steps to the porch. 

Sam leaned around Alice and spotted her motorcycle lying in the back of the truck, the metal twisted and mangled. “What happened?”

Alice leaned against the porch railing, holding her side as she did. “Apparently, Bobby’s hex bag came with a delayed effect. My bike stalled a few miles outside of town. Didn’t manage to get it off the road before a semi showed up. Bike didn’t take to it very well.”

“Are you okay,” Sam muttered, trying to reel his anger in. 

“I’m fine but my bike….,” Alice replied as Dr. Fisher cleared his throat. 

“She’s a little banged up,” he said as he motioned to Alice. “To stubborn to go to the hospital though; not unlike every other one of you.”

“What can we do for you this morning,” Bobby said as he stepped out onto the porch. “I thought we had another day before you’d come see if Dean needed the hospital.”

“As if he’s going to heal overnight on your couch,” Dr. Fisher said dryly. “Of course he’s still going to need the hospital tomorrow. But I’m here for Sam. I distinctly told you I wanted to see him in my emergency room this morning so I could take a look at his shoulder. Let’s go Sam. Singer, come help me drag this mess off the truck.”

“That mess is a vintage beauty,” Alice spat out as she followed them down the steps. “Be careful with her!”

“Was a vintage beauty….Looks like a vintage pile of scrap now,” Fisher muttered to Bobby as they began to unload the bike. As they worked, Alice and Sam stood by the truck. 

“So where were you last night,” Sam asked. 

Alice sighed and ran a hand over her tired face. “Demon den. Looking for a way to help Dean.”

“Any luck,” Sam asked hopefully. 

“Maybe. We’ll need to do a little reading before we’ll know. I’m hoping there’s some sort of loophole we can use.”

“Your little trip to the demon den…you give Crowley any reason to be looking for you,” Bobby called out from the back of the truck. 

“Was he here?”

“Earlier this morning,” Bobby said before climbing down from the truck. “Anything we need to worry about?”

“I sure hope not.” Alice glanced at Sam before turning back at the house. “Hey Sam,” she muttered. “Did someone else show up to help with Dean? Garth or Marty?”

“No. Why?”

“Then who the hell is that,” Alice asked as she pointed to an upstairs window. A silhouette could be seen through the thin curtain, the face was hidden as the figure turned and disappeared into the house. 

“Dean, maybe,” Sam offered uneasily. Something was wrong. Dean hadn’t even managed to get himself off the couch.

“I doubt he’s up for climbing stairs,” Alice snapped. “Bobby! Fisher! We’ve got movement in the house! Second floor window!”

The motorcycle fell the last two feet to the ground as the group sprinted toward the house, Sam taking the steps two at a time. Sam rushed past the doorway and headed straight for the couch while Bobby ripped open the front door and disappeared up the stairs with Fisher on his heels. Alice crossed the threshold when a jolt of pain coursed through her, taking her to her knees. Dizziness made her vision swim, the floor suddenly close as it surged toward her. She took a few quick breathes as she grabbed the doorframe and propelled herself into the house. Wave after wave of bone aching pain coursed through her as black spots danced in her vison. She stumbled through the doorway, fighting against an invisible force that seemed to pull her back through the doorway. Alice crashed into a small bookcase as she fought to get to where she had last seen Dean. Panic smothered her as loud voices yelled around her, the sound muffled. She made it to Bobby’s desk before her knees gave out, dizziness taking her all the way to the floor. Feet rushed past her, loud muffled voices filling the air. She couldn’t see much with her blurred vision but she knew something was wrong. “DEAN!”

Bobby froze behind Sam; Fisher stepping around him, disbelief on his face as he stared up at Dean. He was still in the room, levitating a good four feet off the couch. They stood frozen in surprise as Dean just hung there, his face impassive to the situation. His eyes remained closed when Sam called his name. Bobby reached out and grabbed Dean just as he began to flicker. “You’re not going anywhere boy!”

At Bobby’s touch, Dean dropped like a stone, landing on the couch below. Bobby and Fisher rushed to catch him before he rolled to the floor. “What the hell was that,” Sam asked anxiously. 

“Sam, get over here and watch him,” Bobby snapped out. “Alice, Fisher, we’ve got to check the house. See how they got in—“

“Singer, where is Alice,” Dr. Fisher asked as he turned and spotted her boots lying behind the desk where she had landed. 

“Oh balls!” Bobby rushed past the men and grabbed Alice under her arms before dragging her back onto the porch, dropping her unceremoniously. He kneeled down next to her, rolling her face toward him. Her eyes were screwed shut as she took short, painful breaths through gritted teeth. Muscle spasms torn through her body. “Alice? Can you hear me?”

“I’m going to kill you,” she ground out. 

“Well…….that’s fair,” Bobby said, wondering how to explain it. He had added the additional hexes around the house specifically for Alice; he hadn’t planned on needing them unless she caused any problems. He had forgotten that she’d destroyed it earlier, having it was the only way she could enter the house. A small sense of security for him but a real inconvenience for her to lose. 

She cracked an eye open and glared up at him. He didn’t miss the reddish burn in her eyes, like hot coals in a fire. “Hex bag, right?”

“I told you I had added a few things around the house. That bag was the only thing allowing you into the house. Without it—“

“Yeah, I know NOW what happens when I don’t have it,” she growled out as she fought another wave of dizziness. “Just go check the house.”

Bobby didn’t hesitate to leave her lying on the porch. She listened to his footsteps disappear into the house before she rolled onto her side and started to breathe through the waves of pain; sometimes helping the Winchesters was just a pain in the ass. 

Fisher and Bobby disappeared up the stairs while Sam tried to wake Dean. No amount of calling his name roused him. A good shake finally got his eyes open. “Dean?”

“Sam?”

“You alright?”

Dean nodded silently as he rolled over, his back to Sam. 

Meanwhile, Bobby and Fisher swept through the house with guns in hand. When they got to the attic, Bobby lowered his weapon. The herbs that had been laid across the windowsill were smoldering, the dried leaves charred and crumbling to pieces. “Goddammit,” Bobby snapped as he adjusted his cap. “This was supposed to work!”

“It did,” Dr. Fisher replied with a shrug. “Dean is still here. That was the point, isn’t it?”

“What do we do now,” Bobby spat as he headed for boys. 

Sam was still trying to rouse Dean when Dr. Fisher and Bobby walked back in. “Looks like the house is clear for now,” Bobby explained. 

“How did they get in,” Sam snapped. “I thought we had everything in place.”

“We did. The herbs in one of the windows were smoldering,” Bobby grumbled as he adjusted his cap. “We must be missing something.”

“We’ve followed all the suggestions! We’ve read the lore!” Sam dropped into the armchair, ignoring the pain in his shoulder. He was angry; more than angry. He wanted to find whatever was coming for Dean and tear them apart. “What the hell do we do now?”

“Well, for one, you’re coming with me to the hospital,” Dr. Fisher said as he grabbed his bag from the floor. “No arguments. If you want, I can take Dean too. Might be better off if I did…”

“Can’t this wait,” Sam snapped. 

“No,” Dr. Fisher stated firmly. “I said I wanted to see your shoulder this morning and I meant it, I’ve got x-rays lined up. Bobby said a bullet hit the bone. Now, as for Dean—“

“You’re not taking Dean—“

“Go on Sam,” Bobby said with a sigh. “I’ll watch him. Let me get Alice inside before you leave.”

Sam watched Bobby trudge out of the room, a hard set frown on his face. “What are you doing,” Sam demanded as Dr. Fisher pulled a chair up beside Dean. 

“Just going to take a few blood samples to the lab on our way in,” Dr. Fisher explained as he rummaged in his bag. “Has he said anything since I saw him last? Eaten anything?”

Sam frowned. “A few words this morning. He’s barely moved.”

Dr. Fisher was silent as Sam spoke. The man before him was gaunt, his skin verging on an unhealthy gray. Fisher knew without checking that Dean’s pulse was erratic. He didn’t even move when Dr. Fisher pressed his knuckles firmly into his chest and rubbed back and forth on his sternum. The pain was barely enough to make Dean’s eyes flit open for a second before they slid closed. Sam watched from a few feet away, his nervousness grew as he watched Fisher’s hands. He knew what that test was for; he also knew that Dean not reacting to it was bad. 

“He’s getting worse,” Sam said. It wasn’t a question, but he hoped Fisher would correct him. He didn’t. 

“Let’s just see what the lab results say,” Dr. Fisher mumbled, trying to sound more positive than he felt. He had seen dying people before. 

Out on the porch Bobby was leaning over Alice. “Alice, get up!”

She didn’t say anything as she felt another wave of dizziness come over her; she was going to throw up or die. Whichever one was easier. She hated Bobby and his damn hex bag. It had been a brilliant idea, one she would replicate in the future; an ideal way to let her come and go on his terms. But still, she was going to burn his house down for actually using it against her. 

“Alice!” Bobby laid a firm slap across her face. She was the one woman he would never feel bad for laying a hand on. They had too much history for him to feel bad anymore. 

“WHAT?!” 

“Get your ass up,” he snapped as he hauled her into a sitting position and leaned her against the doorframe. He kneeled in front of her, tipping her head toward him. “How you feeling?”

“Like I’ve been hit with a hex bag,” she snarled as she tried to focus on him through the fog that had settled over her. “How am I supposed to feel?”

He chuckled. “Honestly, I never thought you’d make it past the doorway. I guess I didn’t make it strong enough.”

She snorted and shook her head, instantly regretting it. “Any stronger and you’d be digging a hole right now. How do I get back inside the house?”

“Give me a minute,” he said as he pulled out a pocket knife and moved inside the door. The carvings in the doorframe had been cut deeply into the wood but it took only damaging one for the charm to be ruined. “I’ll have to redo this after you leave. For now, I guess we can let it go.”

“Brilliant,” Alice grumbled as Bobby grabbed her and hauled her onto her feet. Her vision swam and her knees buckled as she stumbled inside. She landed on her knees, cursing as she missed Bobby’s outstretched hand. “We’re going to talk about your hospitality later,” she slurred from the floor. 

Bobby hauled her off the floor with a huff and maneuvered her through the house. She landed in the arm chair next to Dean just a second after Sam left it. “Have fun at the hospital. Bring me back something for this headache, will you?”

Bobby watched as Fisher’s truck pulled away. They hadn’t exchanged more than a quick nod as he had left, but Bobby knew it was bad. Sam’s only words when passing had been to keep Dean safe at all costs. Like that was working out so well for any of them. 

“What are we going to do about Dean?”

“I don’t know,” Bobby admitted. “I’m getting the impression from Fisher that Dean’s worse than we think. He’s not eating, talking, or otherwise doing anything beyond breathing.”

“He’s been worse,” Alice argued. “Remember the wendigo?”

“Yeah I do,” Bobby said. “But this is different.”

Alice looked over at Dean, he had his back to her; his breathing was hardly noticeable. “Should we take him to the hospital while Sam’s gone?”

“Fisher took some samples. We’ll see what he has to say,” Bobby said with a shake of his head. “So…you found Charlotte last night. Any good come from it?”

Alice glanced up from Dean to look at him. “Yeah, I found her.” Without another word, Alice pulled the scrying stone from her pocket and held it out to Bobby. 

“You make a deal,” Bobby asked, his disapproval hanging in the air. He took the stone from her outstretched hand and tucked it in his pocket. He’d have to find a better place to lock it up. 

“I did,” she admitted. “But not with Charlotte.”

Bobby frowned and tried to keep the anger from his voice. “Crowley was there. He stopped by, looking for you and the Fay contract.”

Alice pulled the scroll from inside her jacket. She held it out but Bobby didn’t take it. “Maybe we’ll find something in the fine print that can help Dean.”

Bobby dropped into the chair behind the desk. “What did you trade for it?”

Alice looked at Bobby and tipped her head to the side. “You said Crowley stopped by. You already know what he wanted.”

“Dammit Alice! We agreed we won’t tell anyone about that,” Bobby snapped angrily as he glared at her. “And you went and told Crowley! He’s not going to let this go…”

“It doesn’t matter! It’s done and I say we get busy reading the damn Fay contract before we lose Dean again,” Alice snapped. “It’s been a hell of a long night…let’s just get on with it.”

Bobby caught her eye as he reluctantly took the scroll from her hand. “Let’s hope we don’t regret this.”

McKennan Hospital, Sioux Falls, South Dakota

It was late afternoon when Sam found his way to Fisher’s office from the cafeteria. He had called Bobby every half hour until Bobby threatened to shoot the phone if it rang again. Sam knew they were pushing their luck, the deadline was getting close and they really couldn’t pinpoint an exact time. He had spent a few precious hours letting Fisher march him around the hospital but every time Sam mentioned leaving, Dr. Fisher glanced at his watch and shook his head. He wanted lab results before they left. He wasn’t a chatty man but Sam was getting the sense that something was wrong. 

Sam stood silently in the doorway, watching Dr. Fisher stare impatiently at the printer, a tight frown on his face as he snatched the first page up and read it. “Anything to be worried about,” Sam asked nervously as he shifted from one foot to the other. 

Dr. Fisher glanced up and tried to smile, but knew he wasn’t fooling anyone. Even without having all of Dean’s results, he knew the picture they would create. It was one of a young man who was wasting away and actively dying. He knew he’d have to tell them, both Sam and Bobby; but damned if he was going to do it twice. He’d wait. “I’m still waiting for a few pages to print.”

“Are we done,” Sam asked as he impatiently checked the clock again. “I want to see if Alice and Bobby have found anything yet.”

Dr. Fisher glanced up from the paperwork, distracted by what he was reading. “We’ll head out in a few minutes. Your x-rays show the damage from the bullet but it looks like Bobby got everything out okay.”

Sam nodded. “So is that Dean’s lab work?

“Yes.”

Sam smiled nervously when Fisher didn’t elaborate. “I know you have privacy rules but I think Dean would be okay with you telling me. Besides, Dean’s not really going to be able to understand you right now.”

Dr. Fisher set the paperwork down on the desk; face down, before looking at Sam. “I think it would be better to wait until we get back to Bobby’s to talk about it.”

Sam felt the familiar worry spring up and begin gnawing at him. He’d experienced it before; maybe dozens of times even, from every time Dean got hurt or burrowed into himself and pushed Sam out. It wasn’t the sense of dread that shook Sam; it was the look of certainty on Fisher’s face and the tone of cold pity that was reserved by physicians. It was bad news, through and through. 

“No. No, you tell me now what’s going on,” Sam demanded as he stalked across the room to the desk, whipping the paperwork out from under Fisher’s hand. Sam scanned the numbers, frowning as his heart sped up. He had seen enough hospital paperwork of the years to understand how many of Dean’s numbers were out of balance. 

“Not all the lab work results are back yet but I don’t need to see it all to know what’s happening. He’s dying, Sam,” Dr. Fisher said slowly. So much for waiting for Bobby. 

“How?! He’s not sick…I know he hasn’t been great since this whole thing started, but…he’s not dying!”

“I don’t have a reason for why he’s dying, Sam. I can just see that he is,” Dr. Fisher explained. “Maybe its Fay related, maybe he just wasn’t up for everything he’s been through….I’m sorry Sam.”

Sam stared at the lab results, each column highlighting the ways Dean’s body was failing. He gripped the papers tightly, crushing them. His mouth was instantly dry, his ears ringing. “What are you going to do?”

“I don’t know that I can do anything to reverse it. Without an extensive work up…I don’t know why he’s this bad. But he is,” Fisher replied. “I could hook him up to machinery, but his body systems are already shutting down. I can’t do anything while he’s out at Bobby’s, I could bring him here, but there are no guarantees.”

Sam headed for the door. “He’s not going to die! We haven’t gotten this far for him to die!”

“I know Sam. I know that all this time you were worried he’d be taken by the Fay or worse. He’s only human and humans are fragile. They can only take so much before they die…”

Singer Salvage, Sioux Falls, South Dakota

It was early evening when Alice heard the front door slam. She watched as Sam angrily crossed the room, papers clutched in his hand. He didn’t say a word to her or Bobby as he leaned over Dean, ordering him to open his eyes. 

Dr. Fisher quietly stepped into sight and waved Bobby and Alice out of the room. “What’s going on,” Bobby demanded once they were out of earshot. “Sam looks like he’s about to lose it.”

“Dean’s dying,” Dr. Fisher explained. “I know you all are fighting for a way to save him from the Fay, but honestly, he’s probably not going to last long enough for them to come back for him...and if they were to take him, he’s not likely to survive wherever they’re taking him too.”

“He can’t be,” Alice snapped. “The Fay made him sick but he’s not—“

“I don’t think this is some magical or supernatural illness…this might just be a human body that has been run to the end of its limit and is now shutting down,” Dr. Fisher explained carefully. 

Bobby and Alice were silent. They had fought to long for Dean and not just this time. They had been fighting for Dean for years, against Hell and countless monsters, and sometimes even Dean himself. For nothing. 

“I told Sam I can take him back to the hospital, we might buy him some time with drugs or life support, but his body is shutting down,” Fisher explained. “I can’t guarantee anything.”

Bobby and Alice shared a look before Bobby shook his head. “No,” Bobby said firmly. “He’s staying here.”

Fisher didn’t say anything more as he slipped out the door and left. Bobby would call him if they wanted him back at the house. Otherwise, he was just a harbinger of bad news. They didn’t need him hovering. 

Alice headed back to the scroll, pausing to ruffle Dean’s hair. “Turn it around kid,” she muttered. 

She and Bobby left Sam staring at Dean and headed to the kitchen, scroll in hand. An hour later, Bobby finally broke the silence that had settled over the house. 

“What if Crowley was the one that burned the herbs in the window,” Bobby mused aloud. “What would he gain?”

“I thought you said he wasn’t interested in the Fay taking Dean. He wants a Fay,” Alice replied distractedly as she refilled her glass before moving back to her chair and dropping into it with a sigh. 

“That’s what he said. But can we believe him?”

Alice scoffed as she leaned back in her chair and none to gently set her glass down. “I can’t believe we’re here pondering the honesty of the King of Hell...”

“You going to help me read this damn scroll you sold yourself out for or are you going to drink yourself to death in one night,” Bobby snapped, ignoring her comment. 

“Does it matter,” Alice growled angrily. “He’s dying, what’s the point in reading it now?”

Bobby leaned over the table and grabbed her glass, throwing it into the sink. It exploded into a thousand pieces as he leaned on his fists and took a deep breathe. “He’s not dead yet, Alice, I swear to whatever gods we haven’t even heard of yet that if you give up while he’s still breathing, I will—“

“Everything alright in here,” Sam asked as he leaned against the doorway. He could tell from the tension in the room that if things didn’t calm down one or both would end up saying something they’d regret. He needed them working together; finding any way to save Dean, even if Fisher didn’t think it was possible. “Thought I heard something break.”

Alice shook her head and lied. “We’re fine.”

Sam slipped back out of the room, his attention returning to Dean. He knew emotions were high but the stakes were even higher. They had to keep it together. Sam glanced over at Dean before looking back to his laptop, Dean’s lab results in hand. He had been desperately looking up everything he could think of but the more he read the more apparent it became that Dean was pretty bad. Sam dropped the paperwork over the side of the chair; staring at the lab values wasn’t helping Dean and Sam was feeling more and more helpless. 

Back in the kitchen, Alice was scribbling down notes in the margins and checking off each paragraph as they discussed it. “So far, this is just a lot of red tape and excessive wording. Maybe we should go back to my books and look for something we missed.” 

“We didn’t miss anything,” Bobby argued as he glanced over the parchment hanging over the table. “And how do you think Crowley is going to take it when he sees that you’ve written all over that scroll?”

“Well….to be honest, I don’t give a shit,” Alice said with a shrug. “Guess I could have photocopied it….”

“Maybe you should have thought of that before now. We’ve got to find something soon,” Bobby mumbled as he yanked open the fridge. “If you don’t, getting that contract was all for nothing.”

Alice didn’t take the bait. She knew Bobby didn’t approve of what she had done, but it was done. And there was no taking it back. They’d have to live with it and deal with Crowley when the time came. 

“Can you two just take a break,” Sam snapped from the doorway. “We’re wasting our time…”

Alice glanced up from the scroll and looked from Sam to Bobby. “And here I thought we were fighting to save Dean. When did that become a waste of time?”

“Since he’s going to die instead,” Sam said loudly, the words hanging heavily in the room. “This whole thing has been a waste. We haven’t found a way to save him from the Fay. We haven’t been able to even keep them from getting inside the house! Forget the Fay. How do we keep him alive?”

Neither Bobby nor Alice said anything as Sam stormed out of the room. Bobby silently went about throwing together dinner, not that anyone would eat anyhow. Alice kept working on the scroll, scribbling notes as she did. 

Sam dropped into his chair and glanced at Dean. He was looking worse by the minute, his skin nearly colorless and waxy. He knew he should call Dr. Fisher but without any hope of saving Dean, Sam wasn’t going to put any of them through a hospital stay. Dean wouldn’t want it. Neither would Sam. 

Sam was lost in thought, staring at Dean when a peculiar sound caught him attention. He looked around for second, trying to determine what it was. He settled back into the chair and looked at Dean, his stomach turning over as he realized it wasn’t a noise he had heard. It was silence. Not a breath. Not a hand brushing over a blanket. Not a word whispered through fevered lips. There was nothing to hear. 

Sam stared at Dean’s lifeless body for a second as his own heart beat loudly filled his ears. “DEAN!”

Bobby dropped the frying pan as Alice’s chair hit the floor, both of them scrambling to get to Dean. Alice froze as her eyes locked on Dean’s still form, the world going into slow motion as she felt Bobby rush past her. Sam was leaning over Dean, holding his shoulders and shaking him. “DEAN! WAKE UP!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay…don’t hate me. It’s going to get worse. Worse than death, you ask? YES. Feel free to send me some hate reviews while I sort out the next chapter. Already passing the 2k mark on chapter 25!


	25. Come On Baby Light My Fire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Note: Don’t kill me for what I’m about to do.

Sioux Falls, South Dakota

Bobby sat on the floor, his back to the wall as he stared across the room. Alice was sitting a few feet away and as silent as Bobby had ever known her to be. It was unsettling, the sudden silence. Before the silence there had been yelling, begging, and cursing loud enough to deafen anyone. He didn’t know how long Sam had done CPR for but he knew that Dean’s chest was crushed from Sam’s efforts. Bobby didn’t make a sound as the front door opened and closed quietly, Dr. Fisher moving in through the doorway and pausing at the sight before him. 

Sam was sitting in the middle of the room with his back them, hunched over Dean’s frame which he was rocking in his lap like a child. Every time Sam rocked, Bobby caught a glimpse of Dean’s lifeless face. It was eerie; wrong in such a way that he felt himself balk at the idea that Dean was really gone. But he was. Bobby had wrestled Sam away from Dean just so he could see for himself. Sam had clawed his way back to Dean; pushing, punching, and fighting like he wrestling with Hell itself. Maybe because life without Dean was Sam’s Hell. 

“You’re not taking him,” Sam snapped loudly, his frame folding around Dean even more. 

Dr. Fisher shifted before leaning down next to Bobby. “Anything I can do,” he asked quietly. He hadn’t been surprised when Bobby had called him; he hadn’t been able to get the words out, but Fisher had known what had happened. It was the only scenario that could have left Bobby speechless. 

Bobby shook his head and with a gruff, tight voice managed to mutter, “We’ll take care of him.”

Fisher placed a small sympathetic pat on his shoulder before turning to leave. He slipped out the door and the silence once again filled the house. They stayed there all day, silent and still except for Sam’s constant rocking. It was after dark when the thunder began, rain falling heavily on the roof. The house was dark while occasional lightning flashes illuminating the silhouette of Sam still rocking Dean. The sight of it sent shivers up Bobby’s spine. He had spent plenty of nights drinking his way through nightmares of losing the boys but none of them came to close to this. This was real. Not a nightmare he could wake from and drown in a bottle or six. He was surprised to feel water on his hand, another tear that had snuck out while he wasn’t paying attention. He rubbed his eyes in the dark, glancing over at Alice. He could see the ruby glow in her eyes, unblinking and bright, and knew she was a million miles away. She had helped to raise John’s boys, in her own way. She’d fight for them or with them, but always for their betterment. 

Bobby adjusted his cap again and tried to swallow the lump in his throat. He knew it would be awhile before he’d get any decent sleep. Between the nightmarish sight before him and Sam being as grief stricken as Bobby had ever seen him, he knew it was only the beginning of a long process. First being putting Dean to rest; the kid deserved some peace, even if only in death. He wasn’t sure how to get Sam to let Dean loose but he knew Sam was likely to break in the process. For all his years of having the answers, this time Bobby knew he wasn’t prepared. 

Alice woke to sunlight pouring through the window; the floor under her was cool and unforgivingly hard. Her bones ached, reminding her of how old she truly was. The strong smell of coffee told her Bobby was awake somewhere around the house. She pulled herself into a kneeling position and looked at Sam. He was staring blankly at the clock on the wall; undoubtedly wondering how to turn back time. 

Alice moved toward Sam. He wasn’t rocking anymore but he was still protectively hanging onto Dean. “Sam?”

Startled by her voice, he jumped, instinctively tightening his hold on his brother’s body. 

“Sam, you have to let go,” she said as she placed a hand on his arm. 

Sam turned his face from her, vigorously shaking his head in disagreement. 

“Sam—“

“Don’t touch me! You’ve not taking him,” he roared angrily as he clutched Dean and cast a look over his shoulder at her. The sheer hatred in his gaze was enough to make her take a step back. 

“Okay Sam,” she mumbled before heading towards the coffee. 

She slipped out the back door with a steaming mug in her hand and walked barefoot across the yard to the garage. The house had been quiet but noises from the yard led her to a small wooded lot behind the junkyard. She picked her way through the small saplings and into a small clearing before she came to an abrupt halt.

The unlit funeral pyre that loomed ahead made her stomach turn. 

Bobby knew she was there, but he kept on working at rolling the logs into place. The axe’s rough handle had already torn the skin from his palms and his fingers were raw from the rough bark. This was becoming more and more a nightmare he couldn’t wake from. He wanted Dean back. He wanted Sam to stop rocking a corpse in his house. He wanted Alice to stop staring at the pyre with horror on her face. Putting Dean to rest was all he could do and it wasn’t enough. It wasn’t going to help anyone. Dean had been stolen away and yet he remained with them. It wasn’t fair. 

Bobby lobbed the axe next the pile of broken branches and took a deep breath. “How did Sam look?”

Alice couldn’t stop staring at the unlit pyre. “Like a rabid dog with a bone.”

“He has to let us do this,” Bobby said as he went back to rolling logs into place. 

“There is no way Sam is going to let you burn Dean’s body,” Alice exclaimed, her face instantly hot. “You know that! I don’t know why the hell you’re out here building this thing anyway!”

Bobby threw a branch to the ground. “Because what the hell else can I do?!”

“Get him back! You can get him back,” Alice argued. She knew it was unfair to put that on him, but she needed Dean back. They all did.

“How? How the hell do I get him back? Sell my soul? Yours too maybe? We’ll just add Sam’s to sweeten the pot!”

Alice felt the heat creeping up on her, sweat breaking out over her skin. Right then, she didn’t care if she burned down the whole damn salvage yard. “Why not?”

Bobby looked at her in surprise, the words heavily hanging between them. 

“You know why,” he said, his voice low and angry. “He wouldn’t want that.”

“He’d be alive! He’d want that!” 

“No he wouldn’t,” Bobby roared. “You know that. Not if it meant he’d be living with the fact that we sold our souls to get him back! That kind of guilt isn’t living!”

“But—“

“No Alice! You weren’t around when John died,” Bobby snapped angrily. “John sold his soul to get Dean back. John went to Hell for that boy and it nearly killed Dean to know that! You weren’t around when Dean would call me in the middle of the night, sobbing, begging me to find a way to trade his life for John’s. Now John may have done a good thing bringing him back, but Dean had to carry that around every damn day! How do you think Dean would take it if he found out we did the same thing?!”

Alice grew quiet for a few minutes before speaking. “I wasn’t here. You’re right. But I do know.”

Bobby leaned against the axe and waited. 

“You know Dean called me. More than once, asking me to do the same thing, to find him a way to get John back.”

“There wasn’t a way.”

“Sure there was,” Alice argued. “We could have found something. There’s always something for people like us.”

Bobby turned and stared at her. “And that is exactly why I have ownership of your damn soul, ya damn idjit! I’d have taken Sam’s and Dean’s if I could have. Everyone around here is so damn quick to sell themselves to Hell!”

“Because it works Bobby!”

“Only if you’re a complete idjit,” he huffed as he stormed back toward the garage. “We’re not going to let Sam sell his soul.”

Alice followed him into the garage and set her coffee cup on the hood of the Impala before yanking open the small fridge Bobby kept out in the garage. Without even a glance inside, she slammed it shut and turned to Bobby. “So what are we supposed to do?”

He leaned against the Impala and sighed with a shrug. “Help Sam. Let him grieve. And that has to start with him letting go of Dean’s body.”

“That’s not going to happen.”

“It has to! He can’t just keep rocking Dean’s body back and forth on my rug. It’s morbid! If we don’t do anything, Sam’s just going to follow after him by sheer force of will. I’ve seen it before.”

Alice brushed her hair out of her face and frowned. She wasn’t ready to fight with Sam. “I’m guessing you have a plan?”

“You think I got up at dark thirty to build a pyre without a plan,” Bobby scoffed as he started walking toward the house. “I’ve been having this nightmare since John started training them. I’ve been over this scenario a dozen times since John made his deal and left those two on their own.”

Alice caught his arm, stopping him in his tracks. She stared at him, the ruby glow in her eyes barely noticeable in the morning light. “I’m not ready.”

He nodded. “None of us are.”

“I’m angry,” she said as her throat tightened, tears pricking her eyes. 

He nodded again, this time looking her in the eye. “Get rid of it. For Sam’s sake, get rid of it.”

###

Sam didn’t move when Bobby eased in front of him, but the sound of glasses clinking together made Sam open his eyes. He distrustfully eyed Bobby; his grip on Dean was firm. Bobby didn’t look at Sam, just filled both glasses before setting one on the floor, nudging it across the rug until it was within reach of Sam. 

Bobby set the bottle between them quietly, looking at the two boys. He knew the memory wouldn’t ever leave him. He glanced at Dean, his skin just as pale and waxy, his eyes partially open and the dull green that could be seen made Bobby’s stomach turn over. He had seen plenty of dead hunters before. He had held several as they had died, sometimes trying to save to them, sometimes just comforting them as the inevitable happened. 

He knew Sam wasn’t ready to give Dean to him and even if he did, Bobby wasn’t ready to take him. Sam giving him up meant preparing him for the pyre. Bobby emptied his glass before refilling it. He’d be drunk before Alice came back in. He half expected her to just disappear, barefooted and seething with anger at the world. She had lost a lot of people. 

The dull thud of clanging metal outside caught his ears, as well as the loud cursing and occasional Latin that seemed thrown in good measure. He shook his head in tired defeat. Whatever car she was beating to death wouldn’t stand a chance against her rage. 

His impromptu wake for Dean was turning into a long day. 

####

It was early afternoon when Alice dropped on the couch and reached for the near empty bottle on the floor. Bobby didn’t say anything when the bottle reappeared by his side empty. 

“Feeling better?”

“No, but I’m too sore to keep it up,” she muttered. Bobby looked over his shoulder and shook his head. She was coated in sweat and her unruly reddish hair had escaped its braid. Her hands were bloody and knuckles skinned. 

“You look like crap warmed over.”

“You should see the car,” she said as she eased off the couch onto the floor next to him. Sam was still sitting there, sound asleep from exhaustion, his hands still cradling Dean’s corpse. Dark rings rimmed his eyes, his skin dry and pale. “He hasn’t budged, has he?”

“No,” Bobby said gruffly. “We’re going to have to make this happen. Get me another bottle from my desk.”

“Just drink Sam’s. He’s not going to drink it,” Alice said as she climbed from the floor, aching as she did. 

“That’s not the point,” he mumbled. “Just get it.”

Alice grabbed another glass and the bottle before settling back on the floor with Bobby. He poured them each a glass before motioning to the boys. “I don’t know how we’re ever going to not see this when we close our eyes at night.”

She nodded, her eyes glued to Dean. “I’ve had nightmares like this for years. They used to be about when Dean was possessed by that Wendigo spirit. That he was running toward me, howling like some sort of wild animal.”

“What happened?”

“I’d always wake to find the coyotes howling on the range nearby. Guess the sound just conjured up the image.”

Bobby nodded. “For me, it’s the smell of hospital disinfectant. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve had to pick one or both of them up from some hospital. The worst was when I had to pick up Dean from the hospital after John died. We had just gone through nearly losing Dean, only to lose John instead. He wasn’t talking to anyone; I think he was just in shock over what happened. We couldn’t get him out of there fast enough.”

“We’re getting old Singer,” Alice said as she tipped her glass. “To old to keep burying our friends.”

“Speaking of which,” Bobby muttered as he leaned towards Sam, gently tapping his foot. “Sam, wake up.”

Sam’s eyes opened slowly, but his reflex to hold Dean was on point. He stared at Bobby before looking at Alice. “We have to get him back.”

Bobby just pointed to the glass by Sam’s foot. “Let’s have a drink before we talk about this.”

Sam shook his head, urgency in his voice. “He’s not gone. Not for good. We can get him back!”

“We’ll talk about it later,” Bobby repeated. 

“We can find a cross roads demon,” Sam said loudly, his voice verging on begging. “He’s coming back.”

Bobby lifted his glass and motioned to Sam and Alice. “We’ve all had a long night and a long day. We’re not talking about anything until we’re properly hung over.”

Alice picked up her glass and knocked it back. “Go on Sam.”

With a shaking hand, Sam picked up his glass and emptied it, frowning at the bitterness. Bobby refilled all the glasses and motioned for them to drink again. After the third round, Bobby left the room. He couldn’t look at Sam holding Dean anymore. Alice’s grip on the bottle remained firm; Sam’s eyes becoming more and more bloodshot as the weight of the day crushed him. “He’s not gone… I’m going to get him back.” 

Alice shook her head. “Sam….we can’t go after him.”

“Why not?” Sam’s hands were visibly shaking now as he tried to lift the glass. His vision was beginning to blur around the edges as he tried to look at Alice. The reddish burn in her eyes unnerved him but he couldn’t look away. 

Alice shrugged, tired and emotionally exhausted. “We just can’t Sam.”

He was starting to sway ever so slightly as he reached for the bottle. His voice slurred slightly as he angrily said, “Won’t….you’re saying you won’t.”

Alice tipped her head, watching him. He was having a hard time pouring the whiskey into his glass, his hand unsteady as he stared blankly at the glass. “Sam? Are you okay, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing's wrong with him,” Bobby said softly from the doorway. “That’s just what happens… a side effect.”

Alice looked questioningly at him before holding up the bottle to the light and giving it a swirl. 

“It was in his glass, not the bottle,” Bobby muttered as he leaned against the doorframe, his arms crossed and his head tipped low. “I can handle you drunk and miserable, but Sam…well, Sam’s going to take a little break.”

####

Sam felt himself slipping. His grip on Dean relaxed as his own muscles stopped listening to him. Hands on his shoulders and one behind his head were gentle but firm as he felt the room tilt. He knew Bobby was saying his name, but Sam was too busy trying to regain his hold on Dean. 

“Let me go,” he slurred. “I can fix this. Give him to me!”

He looked up at Bobby, tears streaking down his face as he tried to fight the darkness that was creeping into his vision. “Please Bobby.”

He felt more than heard the wounded sigh from Bobby but he felt Dean’s hand laid into his own. He drunkenly turned his head and saw Dean next to him on the floor. His once vibrant green eyes were now dull and lifeless. Sam tried to call his name, but found that his own body was no longer listening to him. He could barely make out the silhouette of someone kneeling next to Dean, eyes burning bright. Alice.

He gripped Dean’s hand tight and cried out, trying to resist the darkness that would steal him away from Dean. 

####

Alice watched as Sam fought the drugs Bobby has laced his drink with. “I thought you were the one always bitching at everyone about not mixing booze with drugs.”

Bobby didn’t look away from Sam. “You think he was going to just drink a glass of water and take a pill because I asked him too? It would have been to bitter in water anyhow, he’d have picked up on it with the first sip.”

They waited patiently until Sam’s vision seems to glaze over, tears still sneaking down his cheeks. When his grip on Dean’s hand loosened, Alice moved to get up.

“No, you stay here with Sam. I’ll take care of Dean,” Bobby said as he moved into the room. He stepped carefully over Sam and lifted Dean. It didn’t matter how big the boys had gotten, somehow they were never too big for Bobby to carry. Alice watched as Bobby maneuvered Dean through the doorway, disappearing down the hallway. She wanted to go after them but knew Bobby needed his own time to say goodbye. She grabbed the bottle from the rug and leaned back against the couch, Sam lying at her feet. He was staring off into the distance, his eyes opening and closing slowly as he was forced to lay still until the drugs burned out his system. Alice angrily tossed the bottle cap across the room, striking the clock on the wall. She wasn’t building the pyre, she wasn’t bringing Dean back, and she couldn’t fix Sam. If he didn’t mourn himself to death, he’d always be a suicide risk in her mind. It was only a matter of time. Sam and Dean couldn’t live without the other. The realization that she would lose both boys made her take another swig from the bottle. And then another. 

####

Across the house, Bobby was preparing Dean for the pyre. He had done it so many times over the years he had lost count of how many bodies he had meticulously cleaned and wrapped in linen. Wounds were always stitched closed and wiped clean. Once or twice over the years, he had even stitched coins in mouths or laid them on eyes. Tattoos had been cut through or even burned off; if it meant releasing their soul. 

It was a ritual that was never quite the same. 

This time the routine was simple. Dean’s body bore no wounds he could tend, no marks to remove. Once Dean was cleaned and wrapped in linen, Bobby took a step back and let out a shaky breath as he sank into the chair in the corner. He wasn’t ready. They never would be and he damn well knew it. But that didn’t make it right to deny Dean a burial. The longer his body was left, the more they ran the risk of possession. And that wasn’t even taking into consideration that Fisher would have his hide for leaving a body untended. 

####

The room was moon lit when Alice managed to peel herself off the couch and stagger down the hallway. She bumped in the bookcase and apologized before realizing it wasn’t Bobby. She drunkenly peered around, wondering where Bobby was. She knew Sam was still on the floor only because she had tripped over him. 

She pulled open the fridge and cursed as the bright light caused her head to explode. She slammed it shut just as Bobby walked into the room and flipped on the light. “Jesus, Bobby! Kill the lights,” she tried to whisper as she bumped into the table. 

“Sit your ass down,” he said as he moved toward the stove. “Did you fall on your way out here?”

“I might have tripped over Sam,” she muttered as she buried her face in her arms.

“I thought I heard you apologizing to him. He can’t hear you right now, ya idjit.”

“I wasn’t talking to him. I was talking to the bookcase.”

“Not a good drunk, are you?”

“…I thought it was you.”

“Not good about lying either, huh?”

“Dammit Bobby, I’m not proud of myself right now,” she snapped. “And don’t talk so loud.”

Bobby chuckled slightly. “I’ll make you some coffee. How much did you drink?”

“Not enough. I was going for black out drunk.”

“Looks like you came up a little short,” he muttered as he put the pot on the stove and sat down across from her. They sat quietly for a few minutes while the coffee brewed, the smell was familiar and comforting. She rolled her head and peered out from underneath her hair. Bobby caught her red gaze staring at him. “What?”

“Did you do it?”

Bobby nodded. “Yeah, he’s wrapped up.”

“You didn’t want any help?”

“No, Alice. I didn’t. I just want to get this over with.”

“When do you want to do it,” Alice asked, trying to keep her voice down. She knew Sam wouldn’t be awake for a few more hours to hear her, but just saying it made her shiver. 

“I was thinking about dawn if we could get Sam to agree to it,” Bobby mumbled as he set a cup of coffee in front of her. 

“You don’t think we should wait,” she asked as she pushed the coffee away with a frown. 

“For what? Sam to forgo asking our advice and going on a cross country binge to find a demon to make a deal with,” Bobby said with a firm shake of his head. “No, we need to get this done. That body is going to attract anything in the area looking for a meat suit.”

“That is Dean,” Alice snapped as she pushed herself up from the table. “Don’t talk about him like he’s just some random hunter. You helped to raise him!”

Bobby slid the coffee back across the table to her, a warning in his voice and anger in his eyes. “You’re damn right I did. Now sober up and knock it off before you end up sleeping it off out in the garage.” 

Alice ignored the steaming cup and slowly staggered out of the room. She wasn’t going to give up the numbing drunkenness yet. She wasn’t ready to feel everything, nor to be civil about burning Dean’s body. She wanted someone to fight, something to kill. 

She was standing over his body before she even realized it. The linen seemed to glow in the dim moonlight that filled the room. With a little hesitation she laid a hand on his chest. She moved it slowly over his heart, praying to an absent God to make it come to life and end the nightmare they were living. 

Tears she had been holding back finally came, dotting the linen as they fell. 

####

It was near dawn when Bobby walked back into the room to find Alice curled up on the bed next to Dean’s prepared body, one of her hands laying idly over his still heart; dried tears staining her face. He stood there for a minute, wondering if John had ever thought of Alice burying his sons. They had fought openly for years and John had hidden from her for just as many. But he had to have known she’d outlive all of them; maybe it had been his plan so the boys wouldn’t have to be alone.

He gently shook her shoulder. “Alice, wake up. We’ve got to talk to Sam.”

She groaned at the noise but followed him down the hallway, one hand trailing the wall as she did. “Just kill me know. Don’t suppose you have anything for a major hangover?”

“Coffee and a bit of the ol’ hair of the dog might do the trick,” he said as he pointed toward the kitchen. “Don’t overdue it.”

She grunted and veered into the kitchen while Bobby hauled Sam into a sitting position against the couch. “Sam, wake up.”

Sam’s head pounded as he tried to fight through the grogginess. “Where’s Dean?”

Bobby sighed, this wasn’t a good start. “Sam, you know where he is. I’ve got him cleaned and wrapped up. We need to finish this, today. Now.”

“We’re going to get him back! I’m going to get him back!”

“No, we’re not Sam,” Alice said as she slowly walked into the room with a cup of coffee that reeked of whiskey. 

Sam’s face crumbled. “Don’t say that! I want him! Where is he?!”

Bobby grabbed Sam under his arms and hauled him to his feet. “I’ll show you.”

“Bobby—,” Alice warned. “Don’t.”

He ignored her and propelled Sam down the hallway. The closer they got to the open door at the end of the hallway, the more Sam fought him. With his hands firmly on Sam’s arms, Bobby forced him through the doorway. As the linen wrapped figure came into view, Sam started pushing back against Bobby, desperate to be away. Bobby kept on pushing until Sam was standing over Dean’s wrapped body. “This is Dean, Sam. He’s right here and he needs us to give him some dignity in death, keeping his body ain’t right!”

“Neither is burning him! He’s going to need a body when he comes back!”

“Sam…he’s not coming back,” Bobby said, his shoulders drooping, the words heavy in the air. 

“Why can’t we just make a deal?”

“Because it’s wrong,” Alice said from the doorway. “And Dean wouldn’t want us to. Trust me Sam. Me and Bobby, we want him back too. But it’s wrong.” The words seemed hypocritical and bitter in her mouth, but right then she’d have said anything to keep Sam from following after Dean. 

“Sam…we’re doing this. Today. Go do whatever you need to. Get a shower, get drunk, or go hit something. But in an hour, we’re doing what has to be done.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter will be up soon.  
> Go ahead and leave me some hate mail. I deserve it.


	26. make a suggestion?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So you all handled it better than I thought. Good job. Do we assume he went to Hell?

Sioux Falls, South Dakota

Sam stood strangely silent as Bobby lit the pyre. The three of them stood shoulder to shoulder as the flames devoured everything it touched. They had all sat vigilant for pyres before; John’s had been the most recent and it seemed too soon to be doing it again. 

Bobby wasn’t sure how Sam managed to keep himself together. Maybe it had been the freezing cold shower or the half bottle of gin that disappeared from the table. Maybe he was going to let Bobby and Alice guide him toward some semblance of rational and let Dean go once and for all. 

Somehow Bobby doubted it. Sam was just as hot headed as any other Winchester. 

They stood there until the pyre collapsed, the supporting structure burned through. Only when the sun began to set did Sam bother to acknowledge them. “Where do you think he is?”

Alice glanced at Bobby; she wasn’t sure what Sam meant. 

“You know where he is Sam,” Bobby said slowly as he nodded to the fire. 

“I didn’t mean his body. I meant his soul,” Sam replied as his eyes bore into the flames. 

Bobby choked on the thought. Of the two of the boys, Sam had always asked the tough questions. “I don’t know, Sam.”

At that point Bobby had steered Alice back to the house, leaving Sam alone with the fire. 

“He’s been out there a long,” Alice said as she peered out the dusty window into the near dark. 

“He’ll be back in when he’s ready,” Bobby said as he stirred the pot of chili on the stove. 

She pulled herself from the window and dropped into a kitchen chair. Books and papers were still piled high on the table and the Fay scroll was hanging precariously off the back of a chair. “Where do you think he is?”

“He’s outside,” Bobby said with a frown. “Does everyone around here need a map?”

“No. Sam’s question…where you think Dean’s soul is,” Alice asked carefully. “I know what we’ve been assuming…any chance we’re wrong?”

Bobby shook his head. “I can’t begin to imagine what it would take to ensure Dean Winchester getting into Heaven, especially when he’s made so many enemies up there.”

It was nightfall when Sam slipped into the house. He ignored Bobby and Alice sitting at the table and took the stairs two at a time before disappearing into the small room he often shared with Dean. The whole house shook as the door slammed behind him. 

“So what now?”

“Either he stays here and gets back on his feet or he takes off and we don’t hear from him for a year or two,” Bobby said as he set a beer in front of her. “Want to wager on which he’ll choose?”

Upstairs, Sam was throwing clothes into his duffel bag. He didn’t know where he was headed but he wasn’t staying at Bobby’s. He needed to get on the road, find something to hunt, something to kill. He sat on the edge of the bed and stared at the one across from him, the one Dean had always used. Sam let out a shaky sigh and ran his hands over his face. He was bone tired but he wanted to be away from the silence that Dean’s absence was creating. The whole house reeked of sadness and regret and there was no way he was going to stay around just so Bobby could keep an eye on him. His dad was gone and now his brother. John’s mission had been to avenge Mary and Dean’s mission had been to keep Sam safe. Sam’s only desire had been to have a normal family; now he didn’t even have the one he had occasional hated. 

He grabbed his duffel bag and bound down the stairs as fast as he could. Bobby was waiting for him by the door. 

“Where you headed Sam?”

Sam dropped his duffel bag at the door and headed for the kitchen, ignoring Bobby. He ripped the door open to the cellar and headed down. He froze at the sight of the dead Fay that had been wrapped up in a sheet and tossed aside, forgotten in the frenzy to keep Dean safe. He gave it a nudge with his boot. A fleeting memory of Dean’s fearful screaming pulled at Sam’s exhausted brain. Dean had been terrified, locked down and unable to defend himself, while Sam had failed to comfort him. Dean had been there for him his entire life and Sam had repaid him by leaving him alone. And now he was gone.

Sam fell to his knees and punched the carelessly wrapped corpse, over and over. Only when he was deafened from his own shouting did he stand and head toward the darkness of the panic room. There was something he couldn’t leave without. 

He stumbled over the fallen door to the panic room and began sifting through the debris. The dim light filtering in through the open door wasn’t much help, but he didn’t need to see. He knew the fabric by touch. He let out a shaky breath of relief before yanking the jacket loose from the cot it was caught under. Broken glass crunched under his feet as he took one last look around the room he had imprisoned Dean in. Suddenly feeling the smallness of the room, he headed for the door. He had to get away from it. 

Alice was waiting for him at the top of the stairs, hands on her hips. “Sam, what are you doing?”

“Leaving,” he said as he slid past her and headed for the front door. 

Bobby was standing by his bag, ready to stop him. “Sam, I want you to think about what you’re doing. You need to wait—“

“For what!? I can’t get him back, can I? You made damn sure of that! Was his body even cold before you were out there building that damn pyre?!”

Bobby’s face turned red. “Sam, you might not have noticed but you were holding his body for the better part of—“

“It doesn’t matter, Bobby! You did what you always do! Jump in and take over! What about what I wanted? I could have gotten him back!”

Bobby stayed silent as Sam grabbed his duffel bag and shoved his way out the door. He disappeared into the darkness, the Impala roaring to life a minute later. Bobby and Alice watched from the porch as the taillights faded and the rumble from the engine disappeared. 

“Just like John… he can’t see anything but his own grief.”

“And that’s what I’m worried about,” Bobby muttered. 

###

The course of the next few days was tough. Alice and Bobby didn’t speak much as they worked. Alice got rid of the Fay corpse while Bobby sat by the phones, waiting for any word of Sam. He had called around and asked a few hunters to keep their eyes open for him. He didn’t know what Sam would try, but Bobby knew it wouldn’t be a smart choice. He had spent years watching the Winchesters tear themselves apart and while he could expect it, it never got any easier. 

If Sam turned up dead somewhere it wouldn’t be a surprise to Bobby. 

It was nightfall of the fourth day when Alice began packing her books up. She was done. Bobby had asked for her help to determine what had been after Dean and she had done that. Her job was over, for now. She carelessly tossed the Fay scroll onto Bobby’s desk. She had no intention of dealing with Crowley, even if only to return the scroll. She would go back to being anonymous and untraceable. 

“How are you getting home,” Bobby asked, calling from the kitchen. “Your motorcycle isn’t going anywhere.”

“Anything I can borrow?”

“I’ll find you something.”

She hesitated before heading into the kitchen. “You sure you’re okay with me leaving? If you want help fixing the panic room door, l can stay,” she offered. 

Bobby grunted. “If you’re looking for an invitation to stay, the guest room is free. Guess my cooking has improved.”

“Don’t kid yourself Bobby.”

“Stay if you want to stay.”

“I’m only offering to help fix the damn door. You want my help or not?”

“I don’t care about the door. I’m tempted to hunt down Sam but I don’t think he’ll be easily found. He’ll go underground until he’s done whatever it is he’s decided to do.”

Alice leaned against the stove, watching the pot. “He’s angry. He’ll probably do a little reckless hunting; hopefully get banged up enough to need some downtime. He’ll end up back on your couch soon enough.”

Bobby shook his head. “I think you’re missing a few steps.”

“Like what? The part where he makes bail?

“There’s a few steps to grieving, Alice. A good bar fight ain’t one of them.”

She cocked her head to one side, counting on her fingers. “I think there are five steps for grieving. Whiskey, tequila, gin…I think there are five of them…let’s just add beer and vodka and call it five.”

“Idjit, it goes denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance. Your list is a recipe for hangovers, not grieving.”

“Eh, same thing.”

Bobby chuckled again as he pointed to the table. “Is that how you’ve been handling all your bad news over the years?”

Alice shook her head. “Sometimes. I like to hunt when I’m feeling bad. Deer if it’s the right season. Maybe the occasional revenant if there’s one around. How has Sam handled this kind of thing in the past?”

Bobby thought back to when John had died. Sam had gone through all the right steps and while regret and guilt had followed him for months, he had come out fairly unscathed. As Bobby thought back to the months he had tracked Sam after Dean had gone to Hell he cringed. Sam hadn’t ever gotten past anger and bargaining. Luckily Dean had ended up topside before the kid put himself in a permanent grave. 

“He’s not the best at handling grief. Not as bad as Dean…”

“How did Sam handle things last time this happened? When Dean went to Hell.”

Bobby frowned, an unbid memory coming to the surface. “He became an addict…”

Alice turned in her chair. “To what?”

“Demon blood.”

###

Sam sat in the Impala until the taillights from the old truck disappeared down the dirt road. He caught a glimpse of himself in the rearview mirror. His face was scruffy; he didn’t know when he had last shaved or even slept. He averted his eyes as he adjusted the mirror. He didn’t want to see himself; the anger and pain and mostly the desperation he couldn’t hide. His phone rang. It was Bobby again. He turned it off and chucked it in the glovebox; the voicemail box was full and he didn’t care to hear whatever crap he was going to say. Probably that he needed to let it go. That he needed to find a way to move on. 

Sam climbed out of the car with the small box in his hand and a knife in the other. He didn’t bother to look down the intersections; it was so remote he had only seen one vehicle in the last four hours. He buried the box of tokens and turned to wait. He knew this would work. It had to. 

He waited for an hour. And then another. 

“Get your ass up here,” he yelled. “I want to make a deal!”

He waited another hour before kneeling to dig the box back up. Tears of frustration were welling in his eyes. Even Hell wasn’t talking to him these days. 

“Leave it in the ground,” a feminine voice called out from behind him. 

Sam dropped the box back into the hole and turned around. It was the typical cross roads demon, some pretty young woman who had been unfortunate enough to be possessed. She raised her arms and spun; the ruffled dress twirling as she did. “Pretty one, isn’t she? I like the pretty ones,” the demon said with a coy smile and a flash of black in her eyes. “I bet you do to.”

“I’m not here to play games,” Sam snarled. “I want to make a deal.”

The woman moved closer and laughed. “Of course you do. You’re a Winchester.” 

Sam said nothing, waiting for her to get down to business.

“Who do you want this time?”

Sam paused for a second. “I want my brother.”

She laughed. “Doesn’t everyone?”

“I mean it! I don’t want the ten years. You can have me now! Just bring his soul to me!”

She stood silent for a minute, swaying just enough to make the dress swing back and forth with a slight rustle. “You know, I wasn’t supposed to answer your call. I’m breaking all the rules.”

“What rules?” Sam asked as he tried to ignore the desperation mounting in his chest. 

“You boys are off limits. No deals, no talking, no nothing,” she explained as she walked around him, her finger slowly tracing his shoulders until she was facing him. “Even if I wanted to make you a deal… which I do…I can’t.”

“Says who,” Sam demanded. 

“The King; we all have our orders,” she said, feigning sadness with a faint salute. “I’ll have to live with the regret. Better luck next time.”

“Wait—“

Sam looked around, unsteady on his feet. “Shit! Come back!”

Only the sound of crickets and a faint whippoorwill call could be heard in the dark. Sam scrambled to grab the box out of the hole and sprinted to the Impala. There was another crossroads demon about three hundred miles away. He could try again. 

###

Bobby woke to the soft sound of a door closing somewhere in the house. He knew it was probably Alice but you couldn’t be too cautious. He pulled the shotgun from under his bed and trudged downstairs. A soft breeze filtered in through the front door, making him pause. He could see her silhouette, sitting on the steps. He glanced up the stairs back toward his room. He knew he needed sleep. With a shake of his head he pushed the door open and headed out. She didn’t acknowledge him as he sat down next to her. 

He pulled the bottle free from her loose grip and set it out of reach. “Can’t sleep?”

“I can sleep; it’s the nightmares that are keeping me up.”

“Of what?”

“The pyre. Doesn’t seem right. His childhood ended in a fire…seems wrong for his life to end the same way.”

“His life ended on my couch, not in the pyre,” Bobby said, correcting her.

“Same thing,” Alice muttered with a flip of her hand. “It’s depressing. All hunters end in a pile of ash. No headstone, no sign they ever existed.”

Bobby grunted. “This is swell way to spend the night. I don’t remember you being this depressing to drink with.”

“We had less to be depressed about back then,” Alice said with a sad smile. “Times were simple.”

“Nothing’s ever simple, Alice,” he noted. “Maybe we were just had less conscience about what we were doing.”

“Probably. Where do you think Sam is now?”

“No idea,” Bobby said. “His voicemail’s full. I can’t leave any more messages. He’ll call when he’s ready.”

They sat side by side and shared the rest of the bottle until the sun rose. Bobby knew Alice needed to leave. She never stayed in one place to long, not when there wasn’t a need to stay put. It could be months before he heard anything from Sam. He didn’t need her moping around waiting. 

“I’ve got a job for you,” Bobby said as the sun finally pushed the shadows back from the yard. “It’s about Dean.”

She pushed her reddish hair back and looked at him, surprised. “The job is over, Bobby. We couldn’t save him. What else was there to do?”

“His bones…”

Alice shifted uncomfortably. She knew the pyres didn’t always destroy everything; bones were often sifted out and buried. “What about them?”

“What you said earlier, about hunters not having graves or headstones. I know you have a plot for Dean, next to your husband and son. When we dealt with Dean being possessed by the wendigo, John told me about it. I know you were hoping it wouldn’t ever come to that but…it has. I want you to bury his bones and ashes.”

Alice nodded slowly. It was a job; a personal one but still a job. “I’ll leave in a few hours.”

###

Sam staggered out of the car and fell to his knees, digging the hole in the hard ground with his bare hands. His fingers bled from the rough gravel but he didn’t notice. He didn’t even know what day it was. He climbed to his feet and waited, his hands twitching as he glanced around impatiently. He knew this was the right crossroads. It had been listed in his dad’s old journal and Sam knew the demon that used it was still doing business. And by the look of the empty holes in the ground it looked like the business was good. 

An hour later, he sat in the dust and ran his hands through his disheveled hair. This had to work. Crossroad demons ran a business and he was a willing customer, if only they’d answer his call. He didn’t even realize he had dozed off until someone stroked his face. He fought through the tired fog that had settled over him and squinted up into the morning light. Black eyes smiled down at him. “Hello Sam.”

He scrambled to his feet and moved back, nearly falling as he did. 

“Looks like someone’s on a bit of a bender,” the woman crooned with a wide smile.

“I’m just looking for a way to help my brother,” Sam said. He was getting desperate. “I want his soul.”

“I can’t help,” she said with a pout. “You’re just my type too…a little bit sad, a little pathetic…”

“I’m not pathetic,” Sam argued angrily. “I want his soul. Now! I’ll give you mine.”

She clicked her tongue and shook her head slowly. “I can’t. You’re off limits.”

“I don’t care! Hell’s been after us forever, now suddenly you don’t want me?! Make me a deal, dammit!”

“I’d get in big trouble. And you don’t want to know how Crowley punishes his underlings.”

“I don’t care! I want a deal!”

“No can do, Sammy boy. Maybe next time.”

She blew him a kiss just as she disappeared, a twinkle in her eye as if denying him was a great game. 

Sam yelled his frustration and grabbed the box from the hole. He would try again. And again. And again. He’d do whatever it took to release Dean’s soul from Hell.

Sam staggered back to the car and pulled the map from the glove compartment. There had to be another crossroads demon nearby. He’d keep going. He didn’t have a choice. 

###

Bobby watched as Alice carefully loaded the crate into the truck. She’d been silent most of the morning, but Bobby noticed a spring in her step. She needed purpose; even if it was something as morose as burying someone’s remains. She turned and climbed the steps one more time. They looked at each other for a minute before she shrugged. 

Bobby adjusted his cap and glared at her. “You waiting for a hug?”

“Over my dead body. How about a handshake?”

Halfway through the handshake Bobby pulled her into a hug. She smiled into his shoulder. “You’re going soft, old man.”

“Old?! I’m a spring chicken compared to you!”

She laughed, her youthful face hiding her biggest secret. “You’ll call me about Sam, right?”

“I’ll call when I find him,” he muttered. 

She nodded and headed for the truck. “Keep yourself out of trouble, Singer!’

He watched her leave, the last of Dean’s remains going with her. After she turned the corner and disappeared he headed for the phone. He’d keep trying. Eventually, Sam was bound to answer. 

###

Sam couldn’t be bothered to wait until nightfall. He had driven all night to the next crossroads. The car was parked precariously on the side of the dirt road and the driver’s side door still hanging open. He used the flat side of the blade to dig a hole before carelessly tossing the box down in the dusty soil. He swung around, looking for the demon who was supposed to appear. He was alone. 

He took a staggering step back, nearly falling over his own feet. Exhaustion was eating at his body but until his mind could rest he’d keep going. Someone would make a deal with him. They had to. 

He was asleep behind the wheel, still parked half in the ditch, when he heard his name. He rubbed his burning eyes and glanced out the open window. One beckoning wave from the black eyed woman was enough to send him scrambling from the car. This one was dressed in leather and denim, not even old enough to drink. 

He halted in front of her, running his fingers through his hair. “I want to make a deal.”

“No dice,” she said as she tipped her head to the side. “You already know you’re not going to get whatever it is you want.”

“I want my brother!”

“And why would any of us help you?”

“You can have my soul!”

“That tarnished thing? Sam, really, I can do better,” the demon said with a smirk. “Look at me. I could lure any bright, shiny new soul into my web. Now look at you. You reek of desperation. You’re pathetic. You’re powerless—”

Dean’s knife was in her throat before Sam even realized he had drawn it. “Don’t say that!”

Sam held her gaze as he pulled the knife free from her flickering body. Her warm blood was trickling down his arm. As she fell to the ground, Sam lifted his bloody hand to his mouth. “I’m not pathetic. And I am not powerless. Not anymore…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So……….we’re doing it alright. Demon blood.   
> Send me your thoughts! I’d really appreciate it!


	27. Talking Heads

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, so I’ve been slow to finish this chapter. Hunt me down why don’t you? Anyhow, this took much longer than it should have but hopefully you’ll think it’s worth it.

Chattanooga, Tennessee

Alle Wunjo took one last look at the body on the cold metal slab. The body itself wasn’t unusual; not in the way that the local medical examiner would think. Alle had seen plenty of dead bodies before; it sometimes took years to hone the skill to determine if a death was related to the paranormal. She took the folder that suddenly appeared by her elbow, not bothering to acknowledge the other person as she flipped it open and skimmed the report. “You said one like this was found a few days ago? In Alabama?”

Sims took the folder back and nodded. “So you know what it is?” He had only been with the office for a year, but he knew when to call in help. Even when that meant breaking back into the office after hours so his contact could see the body herself. 

“I know someone who will,” Alle muttered as she pulled her phone from her pocket and ran through the contacts. She pulled a hundred dollar bill from her pocket and held it out, not looking up from her phone. “Thanks for the call.”

She let herself out of office’s back door, carefully stepping over the broken glass from the window. She was a few miles away before she got up the nerve to call Bobby. She didn’t hunt anymore, not since a demon had thrown her off a roof, breaking both her legs and sending her into rehab for a year. Now she kept an ear to the ground and made phone calls, delegating work when she spotted it. 

On the fifth ring he answered. “Singer here.”

“Bobby?”

“Yeah,” he mumbled tiredly into the phone. “Who is this?”

She hesitated, trying to remember the last time she had called him. “It’s me, Alle Wunjo. Look—I heard you were looking for anything demon related. This might be something you want to know about.”

She listened to him clear his throat. He hadn’t hung up yet, a definite good sign for her. “Where are you?”

“Chattanooga,” she replied quickly. “I heard from someone that you were looking for some—“

“Alle, what’s going on down there? You find something or not?”

“I think so. It’s not normal.”

“Spill it.”

“I heard about a body that was found so I went to check it out. It was completely exsanguinated.”

“Could be a few things…”

“Bobby, it was also covered in sulphur. Single stab wound. And the body was found at a crossroads—“

Bobby cleared his throat. “I’ll take a look into it.”

“So you want me to—“

“No.”

“Bobby, I’m not sure if you heard but one like it was found in Alabama. I was going to make a few phone calls and find out if it was near a demon’s crossroad as well.”

“Don’t bother, Alle. I’ll make a few calls from here.”

“So you know what it is?”

“I’ll take care of it,” Bobby said before he dropped the call. It was late, or early, depending how you looked at it. He glanced up at the map he had pinned to the wall. Bobby sighed in frustration as he marked Chattanooga on the map. With the two Alle called about, that made seven bodies that he knew about. Undoubtedly more would be found. He wasn’t sure what would be worse, the police finding Sam with a bloodless body in his hands or Crowley finding his crossroads demons were getting slaughtered. He’d probably get the death penalty either way and a real soul crushing detox on the way to it. He was going to have to hunt him down. 

Delano, Tennessee

Alice ignored the ringing phone in her pocket and kept on digging. It was a few hours until sunrise and she wanted to be done in the cemetery before anyone came by. It was remote, but that didn’t mean she was free to dig up a plot whenever she damn well felt like it. Besides, a new bishop was taking over the small church and being caught chest deep in a fresh grave wasn’t the way she envisioned them meeting. 

She hauled herself out of the hole and headed for the truck. She hadn’t been home yet, except to grab a shovel from the barn. She’d bury Dean’s bones and probably end up locking herself in her house for a month or two. However long it took to get over the disappointment of burying one of the boys. 

The phone started ringing again. She brushed the dirt from her hands as she reached into her pocket. “What,” she snapped into the phone as she pulled the crate to the edge of the truck’s tailgate. 

“We’ve got a problem,” Bobby said. 

“Bobby, it’s 3am. I’ve been driving for days. I just spent the last few hours digging a grave, in the dark. I’ve got dirt in places you don’t want to know about,” Alice grumbled as she lifted the crate. “Your problems mean nothing to me, not until I get a shower.”

“It’s about Sam.”

Alice set the crate back down, shifting the phone to her other ear. “Did he come back to Sioux Falls?”

“No.”

“So he needs bail money?”

“I wish.” Bobby cleared his throat before continuing. “He’s killing crossroad demons.”

Alice frowned. “If you didn’t sound so worried, I’d think that killing demons was a good thing.”

“Seven so far that I know about, bound to be more before this is over,” Bobby explained as he stared up at the map on his wall. “The bodies were found at crossroads, each of them a known hot spot for demon deals.”

“Have you tried calling him,” Alice asked as she glanced up the hill to the graveyard. She was a few hours from a shower and she wanted to get this over with before dawn.

“No, I never thought of calling him and asking him to stop,” Bobby spouted sarcastically. “Why didn’t I think of that?”

“Don’t get snippy with me, Singer,” Alice snapped back. “I’m trying to bury Dean and you call about Sam working. As far as I’m concerned, it sounds like he’s doing his job.”

“The bodies were exsanguinated,” Bobby stated. 

“What—“

“The bodies didn’t have any blood left in them,” Bobby explained. 

“I know what exsanguinated means,” Alice hissed into the phone. “I’m not an idiot. I was going to ask if you’re saying what I think you are. Because it sounds like you think Sam’s draining the blood out of possessed people.”

“That’s exactly what I think,” Bobby muttered into the phone. His voice was tired, but a tinge of disappointment could still be heard. 

“Shit,” Alice said loudly as she nearly dropped the crate. “Bobby, I really didn’t think this was going to get any worse than Dean dying….”

“I know…”

They stayed quiet for a few minutes, hundreds of miles apart, both overwhelmed and exhausted from the recent events. Alice was the first to break the silence. “You wouldn’t have called me unless you needed some help.”

“He’s close to you, at least he was. He’s going to be hard to find.”

“How close is he?”

“The most recent body is in Chattanooga. He’s close.”

“That’s less than an hour from me,” Alice said. “You think he’s trying to get caught?”

“No. I think he’s getting sloppy. And if he is, you might stand a chance of catching him.”

Alice ran her hand over her face, brushing dirt from her cheek. She was tired and just wanted to bury Dean so she could get some shut eye. “Look Bobby, I need to finish burying Dean. I need a shower and a pot or two of coffee. Try to find me some help or at least a direction to start looking in.”

“I can probably get us some help finding him,” Bobby said cautiously. “He’s killing demons….we might be able to get some help from the other team.”

Alice nearly dropped her phone. “Don’t say Crowley. If you do, lose my number and find someone else to help with the kid.”

“Fine,” Bobby snapped. “I’ll make some calls. Becca should be back from her trip South.”

Alice shoved her phone back in her pocket and grabbed the rough wooden crate. It was heavier than she expected but she slowly trudged back up the hill toward the small cemetery. It held a few dozen graves and not many new ones. The wrought iron fence that surrounded it made her smile. She remembered when it was put there, back when her husband had been alive. Now he was buried there, young in his life and forever ago in hers. 

She pushed the squeaky gate open and took a step onto the consecrated ground before she was lifted off her feet and thrown back. She hit the ground hard, losing her breath as she did. The crate landed a few feet away, rolling down the hill before coming to a stop near the truck. She groaned and rubbed her shoulder as she rolled over and looked around for the crate in the dim light. She pulled her flashlight from her pocket and looked around as she got to her feet. She was alone.

“What the hell is going on,” she mused out loud. “I don’t have time for this shit.”

She heard a nearby branch break and swung around, her pistol suddenly drawn. “Anyone out here?”

Only the slow hoot of an owl could be heard. She headed for the crate and picked it back up, heading back up the hill. This time she set the crate down at the gate and used her boot to try and slide it inside the cemetery. It refused to budge. 

She pushed harder, only to have the crate slide back and hit her leg. “I’d like to think this is your doing Dean, but we’re never that lucky,” she muttered as she pulled her phone out of her pocket. 

Bobby answered on the first ring. “It’s only been fifteen minutes, Alice.”

“I’m not calling about Sam. I want to know what you did to this crate. Is there a seal I need to break or another one of your carvings I need to destroy?”

“What are you talking about?”

“I’m trying to get the crate into the cemetery and I can’t cross through the damn gate. What did you do to this thing? I can’t feel any markings on the crate—“

“Alice, I haven’t done anything to that crate. I want it buried.” 

Silence filled the line. “Alice?”

“Yeah, Bobby, I’m still here,” she said nervously. “There’s no reason his bones can’t be here, is there?”

“No, not that I can think of,” he said. “Anything unusual about the cemetery?”

“It’s just a cemetery. Consecrated ground, the usual stuff.”

“What happened?”

“I got thrown back when I tried to cross past the gate. Second time I just tried to push the crate in with my boot, it won’t budge. Any clue what’s going on?”

“Alice …I don’t know why but you can bet your ass that trying to carry it onto consecrated ground made that thing go off like a paranormal beacon.”

Without hesitation Alice hefted the crate and headed for the truck as fast as she could, abandoning the open grave. “What the hell do I do with it? Leave it?”

“I’d haul ass and get out of there. You’re going to need to hide that crate until we know what’s wrong with it,” Bobby snapped. 

“I’ll call you back,” Alice said as she threw the crate into the truck’s cab. Driving as quickly as she could from the cemetery, Alice missed the silhouette moving through the trees. 

Blue Ridge, Georgia

Sam let himself into the motel room and locked the door behind him. He glanced out the window before yanking the curtains shut and heading to the small bathroom. He didn’t look at himself in the mirror as he pulled his jacket off, revealing the blood stained shirt underneath. He tossed it in the garbage can and started to scrub his hands. Blood stained his fingers, the red tinge refusing to fade. He had failed, again. The demon had refused his deal. He would try again, he had to. 

He didn’t both to answer his ringing phone, he knew it was Bobby. No one was calling him for help and he was on his own job. Freeing Dean’s soul and sending it to Heaven. He wasn’t sure how it was going to work but he had to do it. He had to do something. He’d call Cas once he got Dean’s soul. Maybe Cas could find a way to get Dean’s soul up there. 

So far, all the cross road demons had refused to make him a deal. But that would change. He was getting more and more powerful with each demon he drained. Once he was powerful enough, he’d find the right demon and demand Dean’s soul. He wouldn’t even offer his soul in trade. He’d offer to let the demon live. 

Sam dropped onto the bed and ran a tired hand over his eyes. His hands shook slightly, prompting him to remove the flask from his pocket. The demon blood was bitter and left his mouth tasting like ashes. He was running low; he’d have to find another demon soon. 

It had been a long time since Sam had been on his own. His whole life had run parallel to Dean’s, except for his stint in college. Their whole live they had fought together and sometimes with each other. They had slept side by side on the backseat of the Impala until the day John had handed Dean the keys, then their routine moved to the front seat, still side by side. 

A ringing phone pulled Sam from another dream of Dean; he was half asleep when he answered it. “What?”

“Sam? Is that you? Where are you?”

He bolted upright in the bed, kicking himself for answering his phone in a dazed sleep. “Bobby—“

“Sam, Dean wouldn’t want you walking this road—“

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Bobby,” Sam said, denying what he knew. 

“Seven bodies, Sam. Seven cross road demons. You think I was born yesterday?! I know what you’re doing! You need to stop!”

Sam’s heart raced, anger boiling inside. “I’m doing what I have to!”

Bobby practically growled into the phone. “I see a fool making a foolish mistake. You’ve done this once before and Dean hated it then too! You have to stop.”

Sam wiped the stray tear from his cheek. His hands were shaking, from his anger or his newfound addiction he didn’t know. “I’ll stop when I’m done.”

He listened to Bobby sigh. “What’s your plan, kid? Once Crowley gets word of what’s happening, you think he’s going to let this go? He’s going to kill you. And if he doesn’t, the demon blood will. Let me help you.”

Sam caught his reflection in the mirror across the room. He was pale, dark lines rimmed his eyes. In the dim light his face was angular and gaunt; skipping meals was beginning to show. He ran a hand over his unruly hair, now unable to look away from the mirror across the room. “Don’t look for me, Bobby. Let me do this. If it’s going to be my last job… that’s okay with me.”

“Well, it’s not okay with me, you idjit! You hear me?! Your job is to live the life Dean fought for! And that means no revenge and certainly no drinking demon blood! Dean is dead and there is nothing you can do to change that!”

“I’m not looking to bring him back, Bobby…I want his soul. I need to know it’s not down there burning,” Sam yelled into the phone. The sound of glass caught his attention: the mirror had cracked. He fought to control his anger; wasting his power on being angry was a waste of resources. He’d need another demon soon; luckily there was nearby cross roads demon.

“Sam, listen to me son…you need to stop this. It’s going to kill you. That’s not what Dean would want for you,” Bobby said. “Just tell me where you are. I’ll come get you.”

“So you can what? Throw me back in the panic room to detox?! No thanks,” Sam snapped angrily as the mirror across the room shattered, sending shards into the air. “If the demon blood is going to kill me, I might as well finish what I started.”

“Sam, please—“

“Leave me alone,” Sam yelled into the phone as he grabbed his keys from the table. He dropped the call and yanked the motel door open and headed for the Impala. The light from the room cast shadows out into the dark morning. The engine rumbled to life as Sam sat behind the wheel, trying to calm down. 

“Can’t sleep?”

Sam glanced up the rearview mirror and locked eyes with Dean. Sam spun around on the seat but Dean was gone. A half mile down the road, Sam felt Dean’s gaze again. He adjusted the mirror and glanced up at it. Dean’s green gaze stared back at him. “Maybe if you weren’t such a junkie you’d be able to sleep.” 

“Shut up!” Sam didn’t turn around this time. 

“You’re looking a little rough Sammy boy. Running low, huh?”

“I said shut up!” Sam slammed on the brakes causing the car to skid on the wet pavement. When the car stopped, he looked in the mirror again. He was alone. 

Delano, Tennessee 

Alice’s truck barely stopped before she jumped out, the crate in her arms. The truck’s headlight’s cast a set of long shadows toward her house; she ran up the steps as fast as she could. Thunder and lightning rumbled overhead while the wind seemed to fight her every step. She didn’t bother to unlock the door, she didn’t even know where her house key was in her bags; she kicked the door open and rushed into the dark house. She rushed through the hallway, dropping the crate in the center of her living room. After one quick glance up at the devil’s trap on the ceiling she headed for her room. 

The sudden storm rocked the house as she crawled halfway under her bed, trying to reach the rough rope handle on the side of the wooden box she needed. She heard glass shattering somewhere outside of her farmhouse. As the wind worsened, she shoved her way under the bed until she could grasp the rope handle. She scrambled back out from under the bed and dragged the box across the house. The sound of the box sliding over the wooden floor was enough to make her wince. So much for stealth. 

Once the two boxes were side by side, she headed for the kitchen, pausing in the dark to pull a shotgun from the umbrella stand in the hallway. The oak door at the front of the house swung open and closed lazily in the wind. She tried to ignore the lightning that seemed to get closer and closer; whatever was coming was certainly making an entrance. The iron key she pulled from the bottom of the salt box stung her hand but she didn’t let loose; iron keys were the best for hex boxes and salt was the best place to hide things but she hated to touch them. 

She rounded back to the living room, keeping an eye on the shadows. Just because she hadn’t heard anything come in didn’t mean it hadn’t already. The hex box sprung open once she unlocked it, revealing the brightly painted symbols that lined the inside of the box. She pried the lid off the wooden crate and upended the bones into the hex box. She hesitated before tossing the key back into the salt filled box and dropping the small box into the larger hex box. She fought to close the iron lock, sighing in momentary relief when it did. If she lived past whatever was coming, she’d figure out how to open the cursed box without its key. Better to seal everything inside than leave anything lying around. 

As the front door swung open loudly and lightning exploded overhead, she tightened her grip on the shotgun. Something was coming. 

She watched in horror as black demonic clouds suddenly whirled into the room, circling the devil’s trap until the room was so thick with it that she couldn’t see the lightning cracking outside of the windows. Wind whipped at her, trying to pull her to the edge of the devil’s trap. The hex box slid across the rough floor before Alice jumped onto it and pulled it back to the center. The whole house shook and shuddered at the demonic invasion. 

Alice felt her phone vibrating in her pocket and pulled it out. “I’m having a hell of a morning, Singer,” she yelled into the phone as the wind whipped the words from her mouth. “Someone wants this box pretty bad!”

As the words left her mouth, the front door slammed shut, jarring the entire house and blowing out the remaining windows in a shower of glass. A sudden eerie silence filled the house, broken only by the heavy footsteps that were slowly coming down the hallway toward her. She tossed her phone down and gripped the shotgun tightly, cocking it loudly. 

The dark demonic cloud parted, allowing a figure to step through, right to the edge of the devil’s trap. “So…I’m going to need my scroll back.”

“Crowley,” Alice said, her voice unable to hide her surprise. 

He smiled arrogantly and pointed. “Or better yet…what have you got the box?”

Alice frowned. “Grandma’s linens and none of your business.”

“Cheeky,” Crowley mused as he slowly walked around the devil’s trap. “I like it. I was hoping one of my lower level demons would find you eventually but you set off quite the dynamite charge by trying to take whatever’s in that box onto consecrated ground. Is it my scroll?”

“Go to Hell.”

“And leave you here with something exciting in that hex box? No…I want to know. In fact, we could make a deal, you and I.”

“No.”

“You tell me what’s in the box and I’ll tell you where Sam Winchester is going to be.”

“Why would you do that?”

“Because he’s giving me a headache,” Crowley explained. “I’m a business man and when my crossroad demons can’t even show up for work without getting slaughtered… it’s bad for morale.”

“Yeah, I bet it’s really keeping you up at night,” Alice sneered. “Get out.”

“How about a thank you,” Crowley said, stopping in front of her. “I’m handing you Sam Winchester on a silver platter.”

“Why don’t you just take him out yourself?”

“Oh I will, if need be,” Crowley said as he continued to slowly walk around the circle. “But if you’d like a chance to save him from the tortures I have planned for him….or maybe you don’t care what happens to the last Winchester.”

“Or is it that you can’t take him out yourself,” Alice quipped. “After all, he’s slaughtering your kind without any trouble. Maybe this deal is for your benefit.”

“Or maybe you’d like me to just drop him off to Bobby, piece by bloody piece,” Crowley offered with a shrug. 

Alice said nothing. She needed to talk to Bobby. Crowley was bound to find out Dean was dead and they really could use Sam’s location. 

“What’s in the box?”

“None of your business,” Alice all but growled. This was exactly what she had wanted to avoid; having to make a decision to by herself that affected everyone. 

Crowley didn’t look up from the box as he spoke. “You’ve picked an unusual place to live; an Amish community that is undoubtedly unprepared for the hell I could rain down upon them. You tell me what’s in the box… or I’ll rip apart this entire community to pieces.”

She’d deal with Bobby later; there was no way she’d toss her neighbors into the mouth of Hell for anyone. “Bones,” Alice said with a frown. “It’s bones.”

Crowley frowned. “What kind of bones?”

“Human,” Alice snapped. “Get your friends out of here and we’ll talk.”

“Tell me whose they are first,” Crowley said curiously. “A saint? Maybe a pope? Or better yet, some—”

“Dean Winchester.”

With a loud snap of Crowley’s fingers, the demonic cloud burst into flame and ashes rained down. The smell of sulphur and brimstone filled the room. “Can’t have them telling stories back down below…Tell me more.”

“It’s like I said, it’s the bones of Dean Winchester.”

“He’s dead then,” Crowley mused as he slowly walked the circle, kicking up ashes as he went. 

“Well, I certainly hope he’s dead cause when he finds out I’ve got his bones in a hex box he’s going to be pissed,” Alice snapped sarcastically. 

“I wasn’t made aware of his death. I take it by the box of bones that you weren’t looking for a deal,” Crowley mused aloud, his voice guarded. If Dean Winchester was dead, he was getting a Fay for certain. The Fay took years to find, mark, and cull the Teinds; there was no way they’d have time to find a suitable replacement before the delivery date. 

“Positive,” Alice replied. “Now where is Sam Winchester?”

“Where is my scroll?”

“What scroll?”

“The scroll, my contract with the Fay. The one you ‘borrowed’ before running off,” Crowley yelled, irritation seething from him. “I’d like to take a look through it now that things have changed. Where is it?”

“Bobby Singer has it,” Alice replied with a shrug. “Now, where is Sam Winchester?”

Crowley smiled, the thought of a Fay to twist and turn into his own first demon weighing on his mind. “He’ll be paying a visit to a crossroads near Murphy, North Carolina. Shouldn’t be hard to find.”

Alice blinked and Crowley was gone. She let out a shaky sigh of relief and sat down on top of the hex box. She picked up her discarded phone and checked the screen. “Bobby, how much of that did you get?”

“Enough to say get your ass out of there and back on the road.”

“What about Dean? What can Crowley do with what I told him?”

“Forget about it,” Bobby muttered, trying to keep his annoyance in check. “Least we know now where Sam is. I know a hunter over in North Carolina. You want me to call her?”

Alice glanced out the window; the sun was finally coming up. “He’s all hopped up on demon blood, any idea how to catch him?”

“I don’t care if you have to shoot him or run him over with the car,” Bobby snapped into the phone. “You get his ass back here.”

“And Dean’s bones?”

“Bring them back with you. I want to find out why we can’t carry them onto consecrated ground.”

“Anything else you want me to bring,” Alice asked as she stepped out of the devil’s trap. Glass crunched under her feet. 

“Your buddy still making moonshine?”

Murphy, North Carolina 

“You’re a disappointment, you know that, right?”

Sam woke to the sound of Dean’s voice in his ear. He looked up and stared into Dean’s eyes, looking down at him from over the back of the seat. “I’m doing this for you, Dean.”

“Bullshit, you’re doing this for you.”

Sam pulled the flask from his pocket and slowly twisted the cap off. He ignored Dean’s complaints as he drained the flask; Dean’s words faded as the buzzing in his ears grew. Stuffing the empty flask back in his pocket, he glanced back over the seat. He was alone in the car again.

Sam stepped from the Impala and strode to the center of the intersection. It was midmorning and yet the backroad was silent and still, not even a bird call breaking the serene morning. He dug into the hard packed soil and dropped the metal box into the hole. He was sure this was the right demon. Something about this morning seemed right. 

He had gotten an hour of sleep somewhere between Georgia and North Carolina, before Dean had woken him up. It was getting to be a habit, Dean showing up when the itch began. The more he drank, the more Dean came and spoke to him; yet the more he needed, the angrier Dean got. 

Sam turned and spotted the young woman sauntering toward him, her hips swishing from side to side in her skin tight gown. She came to a stop a few feet away, a frown on her lips. “I can’t help you.”

With a flick of his wrist, she was pulled to him, his hand tight on her throat as the knife teased a hole in her black silk gown. “Can’t? Or won’t?”

She looked up at him, her gaze as black as her dress. “Both, maybe. There’s a rumor you’ve gone off the deep end.”

“Is that so?”

“Stories have been circling the pit,” she mused aloud. “Some of us think you just want to die but are too scared to pull the trigger. Why else would you start this kind of game?”

“I’m not scared,” Sam snapped as his grip tightened on her neck. She smiled. 

“Go ahead. This pretty little girl means nothing to me. I can get a new one.”

“You can’t if I kill you. I’ll pull you out of her and finish this,” Sam said through gritted teeth. Her eyes went wide as she choked on the thick billowing smoke that swirled in her throat. Halfway through, Sam loosened his pull on the demon. It retreated back into its host and tried to pull itself from his grip. 

Sam wiped the blood from his nose and shook her. “Now that you know what I can do to you, let’s talk about what I want.”

The black eyed woman pulled back from him and rubbed her throat. “I still can’t help you. No one can cut you a deal.”

“WHY?!”

She took a slow step back. “Because Crowley said so. No deals. No freebies. Nothing for either you or Dean.”

“Why?”

“I don’t ask questions,” the woman said. “All I heard was it had something to do with a business deal Crowley’s got going on.”

“I WANT DEAN’S SOUL!”

The demon winced but took a step back toward Sam. “I know what you’ve been asking for,” she said with a coy smile. “Everyone’s talking about it. He’s not down there. So stop asking.”

She was gone before Sam could stop her. 

Ducktown, Tennessee

Sam pulled into the parking lot of the rundown motel and killed the engine. He was running on fumes and needed a place to crash for a few hours. 

“You were stronger before you became a junkie,” Dean whispered in his ear as Sam climbed out of the car. 

“Shut up Dean,” Sam snapped angrily as he pulled the flask from his pocket. He was getting dangerously low but he needed time to figure out what the demon meant. He couldn’t focus past the burning pain that seemed to linger in his bones. He needed to sleep off his encounter with the crossroads demon. He’d have to find another one soon. 

He headed for the motel office, ignoring Dean sauntering behind him. He wasn’t sure when Dean had showed up; somewhere after the fourth demon he had killed. Sam didn’t bother to look up at the woman minding the counter; he just tossed down cash and took the key she slid across the counter. 

His duffel hit the carpet and expelled a small cloud of dust. The room reeked of mildew and decay but the hot shower would more than make up for it. He was standing in the shower when he heard Dean again. 

“If you weren’t so friggin weak, I wouldn’t be burning again,” Dean said as the room filled with the stench of brimstone and singed flesh. Sam ripped the shower curtain open and came face to face with Dean, his skin singed and charred. He cocked his head and smiled, his face blistered and hair burned. “This is your fault Sam.”

Sam rushed out of the room, slipping on the wet floor. He ignored Dean following him, digging through his jacket pockets until he found the flask. He drained it before tossing it on the counter and stepping back into the water. He turned the faucet to cold and ignored the shivers that followed, waiting for Dean to stop talking on the other side of the curtain. A long time ago, when he felt this kind of desperation, he would have prayed. Now he didn’t bother. God was gone, Castiel was busy waging a war upstairs, and it seemed like everyone had an agenda that didn’t include helping Sam. 

He had lost track of time when the sound of the motel door being slowly opened caught his attention. He knew he had locked it. 

“Sam,” a familiar voice called out. Alice.

He scrambled out of the tub and slammed the bathroom door shut, yanking on his clothes as he cursed himself for leaving his gun on the table outside the bathroom. 

“Come on out Sam! I want to talk to you.”

“You tracked me down, broke into my room, and probably have a gun—I don’t think you want to talk, Alice,” he yelled through the door. 

“Well, to be honest, I was looking for you. I drove right past this fleabag motel and had to turn around. You parked right out front. The Impala is hard to miss, you jackass. You’re not even trying!”

“I’m working, Alice. Just go home!”

“I can’t. Bobby called me, there’s a string of bodies leading back to you. But it’s more than that I think,” she said as she eyeballed his gun and duffel bag. She wasn’t sure if he was armed in the bathroom, but if he was back on demon blood he didn’t need a weapon. He was one. 

Sam turned the shower back on and climbed into it, hoping the sound of the water would muffle his movement. He ignored his soaking wet clothes as he tried to pry the window open. It was high in the wall but he figured he could manage. He ignored Alice’s pleas to open the door and was pulling himself through the window when he heard the door crash open and felt her grab his bare feet. “Get back in here Sam!”

He kicked her away before dropping through the window, falling to the hard ground below. There were trees and a ravine behind the motel. Sam headed for the parking lot, hustling as fast as he could through the briars. He paused at the edge of the building, looking around for Alice. He could see an old Apache pickup truck parked closely behind the Impala, the driver’s side door hanging wide open. He knew Alice’s bad habit of leaving keys in the ignition; his dad had been the same way when he was hunting. The open door of his motel room was barely visible around the corner. 

Sam pulled back around the corner as Alice came out of the room, cell phone to her ear as she sauntered to the motel office, the Impala’s keys swinging in her hand. Once she disappeared behind the tinted office door, Sam took off, running as fast as he could toward the open truck door. 

The gravel cut into his bare feet as he reached the truck; he had one hand on the door and the other on the steering wheel before he saw the well laid trap. A young woman rose off the seat and leveled her .45 at his face. 

Sam took a step back and froze. Alice was behind him with her shotgun to his back. “Hello Sam. I’d like you to meet Becca.”

The woman threatening to kill him point blank didn’t look familiar but Sam knew she was a hunter. No one else would have been ready to ambush him like that. Alice moved into his peripheral vision and prodded his back. “Hands up, Sam. Any weapons you want to hand over?”

“You ambushed me in the shower, Alice. I’m lucky to have pants much less a gun,” Sam snapped angrily as he slowly raised his hands over his head. 

“Nothing like getting the upper hand while catching someone with their pants down,” Alice snapped right back at him. 

“I’m not doing anything Alice,” Sam said as he tried to twist around to see her. “I’ve just been hunting—“

“Stop moving,” Becca said sternly, staring him down. 

“Alice, can’t we talk about this? Look, I found something this morning and I think we—“

“This ain’t no ‘we’ Sam. I’m here to take you back to Bobby’s. You’ve gone off the deep end with this demon blood thing,” Alice snapped as she patted him down. “Until you dry out, I can’t trust you!”

Sam sighed in irritation and tried to turn again. “Alice, listen to me!”

“Stop moving around,” Becca said again, this time louder. “Alice, what’s the plan for him?”

“Let’s get him down and then I need to call Bobby,” Alice said as she pulled a handful of thick zip ties from her pocket. “Sam, bring your hands down one at a time. You so much as flinch and I’ll be digging your grave before sunset. Becca here is a good friend of Bobby’s and I hear she’s a better shot than me.”

Sam glared at Becca while he complied with Alice’s demands. His anger began to boil when he felt the zip ties cut into his wrists. Why wouldn’t she listen to him? He let himself he led to the back of the truck and sat down angrily on the tailgate while Alice pulled her cellphone from her pocket. 

Sam watched Alice, hate burning through him. He wasn’t doing anything wrong. She and Bobby, and now this Becca person, were getting in his way right when he was making progress toward getting Dean back. Sam ignored the sweat that broke out across his skin as he stared across the gravel drive toward Alice. She was watching him intently but he couldn’t hear what she was saying to Bobby, the ringing in his ears was too loud. 

Alice was telling Bobby her route back to North Dakota when she felt it. A wave of dizziness caught her off guard and pain exploded across her chest. She wiped a hand past her nose and frowned at the blood that coated her hand as it came away, she could taste it in her mouth as well. She didn’t bother to hush Bobby as she walked up to Sam and grabbed his hair, whipping his head back until his neck felt like it was going to break. Holding the phone away, she leaned close and muttered in his ear, “Sam, you ever try out those demonic powers of yours on me again, I’ll crucify you.” 

She let Sam’s hair go and motioned to Becca, suddenly standing next to Sam with a burlap sack in her hand. Without a word she pulled it over his head, ignoring his angry protests as she blinded him. 

He listened to Alice give Bobby a timetable for her and Sam; she was driving back right away. Alice stepped in front of him and spoke. “Sam, we’ll be leaving for Bobby’s in a few minutes. It’s a long drive. Now, I can’t let you have any demon blood, I can’t risk you getting all dark side on me.”

At her words, Sam felt a pit in his stomach. She was going to dry him out. 

“I can get him back Alice. I was nearly there! Don’t waste everything I’ve done to do this,” he argued loudly, trying one last time to convince her. 

“Now, you’ve got a choice,” Alice continued, ignoring him. “You can go completely cold turkey or I can try to drug you to the gills so it doesn’t hurt so much when you start coming off it.”

“You can’t do that,” Sam sputtered, suddenly terrified of what lay ahead. “Bobby and Dean tried that last time. You can’t just take it away!”

Alice heard the anger in Sam’s voice slowly give way to fear. She had seen addicts before, hell, she had her own problems back in the day but she knew that the fear was only the beginning of his problems. 

“I’ve talked to Bobby about it…goodness knows, he’s probably the only person alive who’s detoxed someone off demon blood,” Alice said as she pulled him to his feet. She led him to the Impala and pushed him onto the backseat. 

Sam couldn’t see anything through the burlap but he felt the needle in his arm. “I hate to be the one who has to do this Sam,” she said softly. “But it’s time for some tough love.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, here goes. I’m supposed to be writing a 25k word novel this month for camp nanowrimo. My plans hit the fan so I’m dedicating my word count to finishing this fanfiction. My out of towners have gone home. I will be writing at night again, barring any unforeseen problems. You want to help me out? Goad me. Email me. Review me. Friggin push me to work on this every day.   
> Also, yes, I did use/combine several reviewers names for the extra characters in this chapter. Want in as an extra? Drop me a line. Make it good.   
> Thanks for reading!!!


	28. Fire and Ice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little late, but this chapter was awesome to write. And the next chapter will be a wee bit more revealing. In a big faerie way. You fight those faeries!

Sioux Falls, South Dakota

Bobby threw another bag of garbage onto the pile; cleaning out the panic room had turned into a bigger job than he had first thought. Damn near everything in the room was destroyed. He turned and headed back into the house. 

Walking down the hallway, he didn’t break stride at the sight of someone sitting at his desk. He kept right on walking, grabbing the rock salt packed shotgun from atop the bookcase before rounding back into the room. 

Crowley smirked as Bobby walked into the room and lowered his gun. “I’ve come for my scroll.”

Bobby motioned to it on the desk. “Get out.”

Crowley tipped forward in the chair and plucked it off the stack of books. “I also heard that Dean Winchester is dead.”

Bobby felt his chest tighten in anger. “Guess you got it all now, you piece of crap! Dean in the pit. A payment full of Teinds and a Fay to boot. Get the hell out!”

Crowley paused for a second, biting back a reply. He hadn’t actually heard any news of a Winchester in the pit. Someone had let him slip in without passing a memo. Bureaucratic heads would roll. 

“I’ll have to thank my lucky stars, won’t I,” he muttered as he unraveled the scroll in his hands, Alice’s red pen markings coming into view. “What the bloody hell happened to this?”

“Hope,” Bobby mumbled as he headed back toward the cellar. “Our last damn hope.”

Delano, Tennessee

Sam’s head bounced off the seat as the car shimmied over the washboard road, causing the ache in his head to turn into fire. “Alice…stop…”

Up in the front seat, Alice ignored him. He had been in and out of consciousness with rambling threats that occasionally fell out of his mouth like sudden explosions. 

“I have to get a few things,” Alice said loudly as she climbed out of the car. “Stay put.” 

She left the car and quickly headed up the steps into her trashed house. The broken glass crunched under her boots as she headed to the wall safe in her room. She pulled a small box out and stuffed it into her pocket before heading to the bookshelf. She scanned the shelf before pulling out a few books, carefully stacking them in a wooden crate. She grabbed a hammer and nail from the box under the stairs, pulling an envelope from her pocket. One firm swing secured the envelope to the door. Abraham, her neighbor, would find it in a few days when he came by. 

She didn’t look back at the house as she dropped the crate in the trunk. Climbing back into the car she leaned over the seat and looked at Sam. She had removed the blindfold, only because she was certain he was too far gone to gather himself into a dangerous state. He looked awful; his skin was pale with dark circles around his closed eyes. She eyed the bag of medication on the seat next to her. She had medicated a lot of hunters over the years, but that was different. Those people had very obvious injuries and needs, with prescription instructions to follow. This was different. Bobby had called both Dr. Fisher and Jim Walsh who had tried their best to come up with a dosage everyone could agree on. So far, it was holding Sam in a dazed state. She watched as his eyes slowly opened. 

He frowned as he tried to focus. “Al…Alice?”

“We’re at my house, Sam. We’ll be back on the road in a minute. How you feeling?”

He didn’t answer as he tried to sit up; his hands were still zip tied together. “Listen to me…Dean…,” he gagged as his stomach turned over. He slowly eased himself back down onto the seat, wincing as he did. “Dean—“

“Sam, we’re not talking. You can tell me how you feel or if you’re hungry or whatever. We are not talking about Dean or the seven bodies you left in your wake.”

Sam felt the car rumble to life; the world was moving again. Bright sunlight filtered into the car, blinding him. He remembered this feeling; the ache in his bones and the hunger in his gut. He was getting low. 

“Where’s my flask,” he slurred as he tried to pat his pockets. 

“Stop Sam,” Alice called out from the front seat. “Just stop.”

Sam tried to breathe through the pain and the waves of nausea that tormented him. He tried to count each breath but couldn’t. His brain couldn’t seem to keep one foot in front of the other. There was something important he needed to remember. Something he needed to hold onto. 

“Dean.”

Sioux Falls, South Dakota

Bobby tossed the phone down and sank into his chair. Sam had been caught. He knew he should feel relieved by it but he knew the road ahead was going to be tough. Sam could die from detoxing; last time Sam had burned out everything simply by killing Lilith. This time it wasn’t going to be so easy; Sam going cold turkey was risky.

With a deep scowl Bobby picked the phone back up and thumbed through his notebook. He hadn’t worked with Jenn in a long time, not since she had taken to civilian life to raise her kids. Now she only hunted once or twice a year and only things that rarely left behind fatalities. Or things she was excellent at hunting. Like vamps. He hated to call her, even if it was only for information. 

He chuckled at her ringtone, Carry on My Wayward Son, and frowned when he got her voicemail. 

“Jenn, this is Bobby Singer…I know you’re out, but I could use some help. Call me back.”

He tossed the phone back on the desk. Somewhere, there had to be a way to keep Sam alive. He couldn’t possibly have been the only one to fall into drinking demon blood. 

Halfway down the cellar stairs, one of the phones started ringing. He hustled back to the lineup of phones and grabbed the far left one. It was the line most rarely used, the number only known to a few out there. 

“Yeah,” he barked into the phone. 

“It’s Jenn. What’s the problem?”

Bobby leaned on the table and huffed. “I got a hunter in trouble and I need some help.”

“Winchester trouble again, huh? Bobby, those two need a goddamn babysitter.”

“They’re not the only ones out there causing trouble,” Bobby quipped back. 

“You’re right, okay, so who is it this time,” Jenn asked, trying to keep the smile out of her voice. 

Bobby adjusted his cap and cleared his throat before muttering, “Sam Winchester.”

“I knew it,” she howled into the phone. “So, what do you need from me?”

“First off, this is not to get out, you understand me? Sam’s been on a demon blood drinking binge and I’ve got to detox him off of it.”

“Shit…Bobby, how the hell are you going to do that?”

“With your help.”

“Well… Bobby, that’s kinda…not my thing.”

“I know, but you’ve helped a few others out. Right now, he’s enroute to me. I’m worried that him going cold turkey is going to kill him.”

“Bobby, it’s not the same thing! I caught a few hunters who had lost their shit and dropped their sorry asses off at rehab. This is very different!”

Silence filled the phone. 

“Jenn, you’re the only hunter I know who can keep this quiet while getting it done.”

She sighed into the phone. “So what, you want me to drain a demon dry, get it to Sam so you can wean him off of it, and keep any talk down, is that right?”

“No, unless that’s the only option. I want you to look for a way to detox him. You’ve got a few connections that might help us out, right?”

Jenn cocked her head and closed her eyes, shaking her head silently. This was crazy. Bobby had asked for some weird shit in the past but this took the cake. She was going to have to call in some extra help.

“I’m going to need Eleanor Dearhart to help with this,” Jenn said firmly. “She’s a chemist and may have a good idea about how to pull this off.”

“Fine,” Bobby grunted into the phone. “As long as you keep her from talking.”

“I can’t make any promises about a cure. And you are going to owe me big for this, Singer. And I don’t mean bail money either.”

“What do you want,” Bobby asked hesitantly. Last time Jenn had come through for him, he had lost a Chevelle.

“I’ve got a week of hunting a revenant coming up and you, mister, are on kid duty.”

“I don’t babysit!” Bobby sputtered into the phone. The last kids he had been stuck with were Sam and Dean. 

“You do now,” Jenn snapped into the phone. “Who’s transporting Sam?”

“Alice Hilty,” Bobby said. “She hunted him down in North Carolina.”

“Why wasn’t Dean hunting him?”

“He’s dead.”

Jenn felt her heart skip a beat. “Bobby…shit…I’m sorry.”

He grunted into the phone. He wasn’t looking forward to having this same conversation a hundred times over with every hunter he had to call. 

“So…Alice Hilty, huh? Bet Sam is loving that.”

“She’ll keep him in line,” Bobby mumbled into the phone. “Call when you have something.”

Hell

Crowley sank into the soft leather chair, the frail scrollwork in his hands making him frown. He unrolled it a little further and sighed at all the red handwriting that filled the margin. “Damn woman. This is pure sacrilege!”

He turned the scroll to try and read some of the writing. He chuckled at the handiwork. She had written a few notes exclusively to him; near the top of the scroll there was something about a monk, a priest, and an atheist at the pearly gates. He unrolled more the scrollwork, curiously drawn in by a line of arrows that led to the bottom of the scroll. He felt himself flush with rage. “This is scroll is older than Hell itself and she drew—Jesus Christ!—she drew phallic graffiti all over Lucifer’s signature!”

Hearing the door open at the far end of the room, he quickly rolled up the scrollwork. He watched as a lower level demon scurried towards him, stopping on the other side of the large desk. 

Crowley cleared his throat and tossed down the scroll. “Did you find him?”

The well-dressed man nervously shook his head from side to side. “No. Not a trace of him anywhere.”

“Where the hell is he,” Crowley mused. 

“Maybe if you could elaborate on why I’m searching the pit for Dean Winchester I could further assist in locating him,” the black eyed man said, his head bowed. “There has been some talk…”

Crowley stared at the man. He knew Mo wanted a promotion, something in the crossroad deal division, anything that would get him away from the screaming pit. “And for this bit of gossip… you’d like something in trade.”

Mo’s eyes flicked up and met Crowley’s. “Yes.”

“Yes…what?”

“Yes, my king,” Mo hissed. 

“Tell me.”

“There’s a rumor about Sam Winchester. That he’s been slaughtering crossroad demons—“

“That part is true, “Crowley stated firmly as he leaned back into the chair. “Tell me that is not all the information you have.”

Mo straightened as Crowley confirmed his story. “The talk is that when Sam Winchester tried to make deals…he’s been asking for Dean Winchester’s soul.”

Crowley leaned forward and looked at Mo, disbelief on his face. “He thinks Dean’s soul is here. That I have it.”

“Apparently so.”

Crowley frowned. “Interesting. Now to just find the bloody thing.”

Baltimore, Maryland

“Keep it down,” Jenn yelled across the house as she tried to rifle through her journal. Wrangling kids while trying to engineer a cure for demon blood was turning out to be tougher than she thought. She considered sending them to down to her panic room for a game of hide and go seek while she made a few phone calls. 

She pulled a few notes loose and glanced through them. Over the years, she and Eleanor had spent time working on some unusual cures for paranormal maladies but curing a demon blood addiction was unheard of. Primarily because no one was stupid enough to drink it. Except a damn Winchester.

After hefting the large hex box onto her dining room table she pried the nailed lid off before pulling on latex gloves and carefully lifting a large medieval era book from inside. The parchment was rough and spewed dust into the air as she flipped pages, looking for anything that could help her. 

Her phone burst into song, causing her to search under piles of papers until she found it. “Eleanor, you find anything useful yet?”

“Maybe if I knew a little more about whom we’re dealing with, I could find something sooner,” Eleanor quipped over the phone. “Details. I need details!”

Jenn sighed and brushed a hand through her rainbow colored hair. “Look, I can’t give you a name. It’s a hunter with a demon blood addiction. I need a way to keep him alive.”

“Well…you could just let him keep drinking it.”

“Dumbass. The blood will kill him eventually.”

“So it sounds more like if he keeps drinking it, he dies. If he stops drinking it, he dies. So…what if we just kill him before the demon blood can do it? 

“Smartass. That is not quite what we’re looking for,” Jenn mumbled as she continued to flip through the pages. “Hey, what about that drug we looked into awhile back? Narcan, maybe?”

“Yeah, but that’s used for narcotic overdoses, not anything demonic. Someone who’s overdosed gets Narcan, it neutralizes the narcotics in their body but it also makes it impossible to medicate them with anything else. You can’t wean them off, or give them anything for pain. It’s a drastic measure… sometimes the sudden withdrawal caused by the Narcan can send them into shock.”

“Yeah, I remembered there was something not cool about it. But hey, if we could engineer a paranormal version of that for demon blood, that would be pretty damn awesome. What do you think?”

“Well, ummm…hmmmm……well, that we might can do. I’ll call you back,” Eleanor said. “Give me an hour.”

Kentucky Interstate

Sam’s brain sloshed around in his head as the drugs coursed through his veins. He knew this feeling, he had been here before. But this time it was worse because it was layered on top of the awful feeling of his addiction. His body ached and his bones were on fire. He tried to call out to Alice, if she was still there. He knew he deserved it, to be left for dead. He had tried to kill Alice by sheer force of will, if she had been anyone else he may have succeeded. 

“You know she’s got it out for you.” Dean’s voice cut through the fog that covered his brain. Sam groaned. He was a harbinger; Dean always appeared when his addiction demanded to be fed. 

“Go away Dean,” Sam slurred, wincing at the sound of his own voice. It cut through the fog in his brain and caused wave after wave of pain behind his eyes. 

“She hates you because you let me die,” Dean said in a singsong voice. 

“Shut up, you’re lying,” Sam argued aloud. 

He watched as Dean leaned over the backseat, his eyes suddenly black. “I took up the knife again. I’ll be ready when you get here.”

Sam choked back a sob as he stared into Dean’s soulless eyes, a cruel smile stretching its way across Dean’s face, contorting into a gruesome smirk. “I’ll be waiting for you, Sammy.”

In the front seat Alice gripped the steering wheel tighter and glanced in the rearview mirror. She knew Sam and she were the only ones in the car but dammit if Sam wasn’t freaking her out a little. Delusions, hallucination, whatever you wanted to call them, she had dealt with them in the past. They could be cruel; they came armed with everything they needed to destroy a person’s sanity. It was cruel listening to Sam carry on a conversation with a Dean who wasn’t there. 

“Sam, he’s not real,” Alice called out. “Dean is not here.”

“Sure I am,” Dean yelled, making Sam wince at the sharp noise. “I’m your own personal demon, Sammy!”

“No. No! No no no,” Sam cried out, trying to scoot away from Dean. His back hit the door, stopping him. 

“It’s back to the pit, Sammy boy.”

“NO!”

“Sam, calm down, Dean is not here,” Alice said loudly as she desperately scanned the roadway for a place to pull off. 

Sam watched in horror as Dean appeared in the back seat, a few inches away from him, his twisted smile and empty eyes filling Sam’s vision. “She’s heading for a crossroad’s demon; she’s going to toss you in the pit for fun.”

“She wouldn’t do that!”

“She’s not even human anymore, Sammy. You should have hunted her down before she came for you,” Dean hissed into his ear. 

“STOP!”

Alice pulled onto the off ramp and swerved for the shoulder, hitting the brakes. The car skid on the loose gravel, sending Sam to the floor; she climbed out of the car and yanked open the backdoor. Sam was curled up on the floor. His eyes were screwed shut. Tremors worked their way across his body as the withdrawal continued to wreak havoc.

Alice laid a hand on his skin; he winced at her touch and whimpered painfully. He was feverish and coated in sweat. She ran a hand through her hair and sighed in frustration. “Hang on Sam. I’m going to call Bobby and sort something out.”

Bobby answered on the first ring. “What?”

“Don’t grump at me, Bobby Singer. Sam has about lost his mind and I’m just not sure what I’m supposed to do for him.”

“What happened?”

Alice stared down at Sam. “He’s delusional. He’s got a fever and is covered in sweat. He’s shaking uncontrollably. How bad does this get?”

“Pretty bad. Last time, back when he was in the panic room, he was being flung around the room. You seen anything like that yet?”

“Jesus, Bobby…and you didn’t think that might have been relevant information to have BEFORE I offered to drive him cross country? What the hell am I going to do with him if that happens?!”

“It might not happen again…”

“But you can’t say for sure.”

“No,” Bobby admitted. “I can’t guarantee anything at this point, even that he’ll survive.”

Alice turned away from Sam. “What do you mean?”

“Last time we tried to detox Sam, we never actually cured him ourselves. He went into the panic room, sure. But he got out, that demon Ruby helped him, and he ended up blowing all his demonic powers killing Lilith.”

“So what happened to the whole cold turkey thing?”

“Dean and I argued about it; debating whether or not he’d survive withdrawal. We didn’t know what would happen, but we knew for damn sure if he kept drinking it, he’d end up dead.”

Alice shook her head and frustration. “I am going to kill you! I can’t believe I’ve got a ticking time bomb in the car!”

“I’ve got Jenn and Eleanor Dearhart working on a cure. In the meantime, Dr. Fisher and Jim Walsh think the sedatives and restraints are the only way to move him.”

“What about weaning him off the demon blood, a little at a time,” Alice asked. “I know it’s not the route we want to take, but do we really have a choice?”

Bobby sighed into the phone. He didn’t want to be the one to make that decision. “Alice…if you give him demon blood, you chance making him stronger.”

“But if I don’t give him demon blood, he won’t even be alive when you find a cure.”

“Alice, listen to me! At his full demon blood potential, Sam killed Lilith without even touching her. You really want to see that kind of power for yourself? Do you want to risk that?”

Alice sighed. “I might have to.”

“Alice, don’t—“

Alice dropped the call and stuffed the phone back in her pocket. Sam continued to whimper in the backseat; his eyes following someone who wasn’t there. 

“What the hell am I doing,” Alice muttered as she popped the trunk and began digging through Sam’s duffel bag.

Baltimore, Maryland

Jenn had been through every book at her disposal. There were mentions of bleeding out possessed people in an attempt to remove the demon. There were also some mentions of possessed people cannibalizing others, but there wasn’t a single mention of demon blood addiction that she could find. 

Sliding the hex box back into her safe, she grabbed another book and called Eleanor Dearhart. 

“Find anything?”

“I can help with the withdrawal effects and maybe even slow down his addiction so it wouldn’t kill him for a while, but as for a cure…no.”

Jenn listened to Eleanor list off ingredients, guess at side effects, and rant about the addictive properties of the narcotics that they were currently keeping Sam sedated with. As she flipped through the pages, she paused and flipped back a page. The text was faded but she knew the symbol’s history. It was a longshot. 

“Eleanor, you’ve been looking for a physical cure for a paranormal problem, right? What if we try something a little different?”

“Different how,” Eleanor asked, her voice curious but hesitant. Jenn’s unconventional approach paired with her own chemist background had made them the center of some controversial treatments. Successful, but controversial. 

“Different enough to get me a week’s worth of babysitting from Bobby Singer! We’re going to need someone who can weld or tattoo.”

“Jenn, that doesn’t sound like a cure,” Eleanor warned. 

“Trust me, once you hear me out, you’re going to love it,” Jenn said. “I’ll be over later. We’re also going to need some sort of antiseptic.”

Eleanor laughed. “Undoubtedly.”

51° 24′ 20″ N, 30° 3′ 25″ E

Crowley turned and scanned the landscape. There was no sign of Castiel anywhere. In fact, there wasn’t anyone anywhere. He had picked a wonderful meeting spot, no prying eyes, no ears reporting to Heaven or Hell. In fact, the landscape was so desolate no one even bothered to keep this place on the books. It was a moot destination. No souls to reap, no souls to trade. 

Castiel stepped into view. “What do you need?”

“I need a favor,” Crowley stated. “I need you to search Heaven for Dean Winchester.”

“Why would I search Heaven for Dean Winchester?” 

“Because I asked you too and we’re business partners. This is how we do things; I scratch your back, you scratch mine.”

Castiel looked confused. “Why would I be scratching—“

“Nevermind! Forget it…just see if Dean is up there.”

“I will be back momentarily,” Castiel said before disappearing. 

“What do I bother—“Crowley muttered as he straightened his jacket. 

Castiel reappeared next to Crowley. “He is nowhere in Heaven.”

“There, that wasn’t so hard,” Crowley said as he stepped away from Castiel. He paused when he felt Castiel grab his shoulder. 

“Why are you looking for Dean,” Castiel growled. 

“Business,” Crowley said innocently. 

Castiel disappeared again and returned momentarily in a whirl of smoke; the stench of singed feathers filled the air. “He’s not in Hell either. Or anywhere else I can see.”

“I could have told you that,” Crowley snapped. “And in the future, keep your nose out of my territory.”

Castiel frowned and let Crowley go. “If I find that you have him, I will destroy you.”

“Better men have tried,” Crowley mused as he looked at the nearby Ferris wheel. “And you have more important things to worry about than Dean Winchester. Like winning the war in Heaven, aye?”

Castiel disappeared in a flash, leaving Crowley by himself. He smiled to himself. His Teind payment was nearly ready to be delivered. He needed Castiel busy elsewhere so he could begin molding his first Fay into a productive little demon. Finding Dean could wait. Wherever he was, no one, not even Heaven or Hell could find him. 

Sioux Falls, South Dakota 

Bobby reached for the phone a second before it rang; she always called right on time. “You find something that’s going to work?”

“Maybe,” Jenn said. “It’s worth a try. Eleanor and I agree it’s probably not any more deadly than letting him drink demon blood every day.”

“So it could kill him?”

“Bobby, really, at this point…there isn’t a cure. Okay? If there is one, no one knows what it is.”

“So what exactly did you found,” Bobby asked as he continued to scan through the large book in front of him. 

“It’s not going to be nice. If it even works—“

“Jenn!” Bobby barked into the phone. “Just tell me what you found.”

“You know about alchemy, right?”

Bobby sighed. “That’s a big question. Skip to the relevant part.”

“I found an old alchemy manuscript with the different processes they used. One goal of alchemy was to find eternal health. Now, in their work they needed only very pure ingredients and some of those ingredients were rather hard to purify. What they used…well…okay, so it’s going to sound like I’m saying cursed object, but I’m not quite saying that, okay?”

“What the hell are you talking about? Have you and Eleanor been into the Kush again—“

“Bobby, that was ONE time—“

“Jenn—,” Bobby warned.

“Anyhow, alchemists carved or molded or inlaid a specific sigil into the vessels which contained the ingredients. The vessel, being cursed or enchanted depending on how you look at it, would remove impurities from whatever it held.”

“Interesting. So I need to make a giant hex box to stuff Sam inside of?”

Jenn was silent over the line. “I hadn’t actually thought of putting Sam inside of a vessel. I was planning on embedding the sigil in his skin. Maybe a brand, a tattoo, or a something like that.”

“I know you prefer the hands on approach,” Bobby said with a chuckle. “I’ll build a box, you get me the specifics on how to curse the damn thing.”

“And?” Jenn asked brashly. 

“And I’ll pencil you on the calendar for kid duty,” Bobby grumbled. “But only if this works!”

Missouri Interstate

Alice watched Sam in the rearview mirror, her eyes constantly flicking from his face to the highway. She was torn between finding a motel for the night or driving straight to Bobby’s. Sam had been talking almost non-stop for the last hour; sometimes Latin exorcisms, sometimes to Dean, and once or twice to someone named Jess.

“There’s got to be a way to stop these damn hallucinations,” Alice muttered to herself as she spotted a motel sign. She desperately needed a break from the car. Sam had rambled on most of the drive to some version of Dean only he could see. And it didn’t sound like a version she would like. 

The ringing phone made her miss the exit ramp. “Dammit,” she muttered as she grabbed the phone from the dash. “What?”

“We’ve got something that may work for Sam. How quick can you be here?”

Alice glanced back at Sam. She had managed to sit him up the backseat, using the seatbelt to secure him. “Not quick enough.”

“You give him any demon blood,” Bobby asked. He didn’t like thinking of her doing it, but then again he wasn’t the one with a dying Winchester in the backseat. 

“No. I’m trying not to but if I decide he needs it, you’ll have to live with it,” Alice stated firmly. “He’s still talking to that damn hallucination. I hate listening to him.”

“He still fevered?”

“Yeah, I think it’s worse.”

“Like last time. Just keep an eye on him.”

“I’m thinking of pulling off for a few hours. He’s barely conscious and I need a break. I don’t know how Sam and Dean spent their whole life in this car. My ass is numb,” she grumbled. 

Bobby chuckled. “Just keep him restrained. He’s a smooth talker, that one. Unconscious or not, don’t let him free.”

“I got this,” Alice said as she pulled onto an exit ramp. “I’ll just shoot him if he pulls anything.”

Bobby groaned. “Just get him here alive.”

“Will do,” she said as she tossed the phone back down on the seat. The dimly lit motel sign promised clean rooms for 35$ a night; a sure bet the shower would leak and the television didn’t work. She didn’t care. It was the sort of place that wouldn’t pay any attention to her dragging Sam into a room or emptying the ice machine. She paid for the room farthest from the office and parked crookedly by the room.

Sam didn’t react when she pulled the door open. “Get up Sam. Can you walk?”

His eyes slid open and tried to focus on the figure next to him. He could see an open motel door a few yards away, but the light from the room was blinding him. He rolled his head away from the light and felt the world turn under him. His stomach rolled as Alice did her best to yank him from the car. 

“Sam, rise and shine. Time to get out of the car.”

“Mmm...Alice—give me a second,” he mumbled as he fought against the nausea that assailed him. 

“Sam, look at me,” Alice said as she tipped his head back. Her mothering skills kicked; she laid her hand on his forehead before she could stop herself. “You’re really fevered.”

“Yeah,” Sam muttered tiredly. “Why are we stopped?”

“I need a break from the car,” Alice said with a shrug. “We’ll take an hour or two and get back on the road.”

Sam wobbled into the room and collapsed on the bed. He wasn’t sure if it was the drugs, the fever, or his withdrawal that had stolen his strength. He could barely keep his eyes open; tremors seemed to ripple through him. His hands were still tightly bound as he tried to roll on his side. The sound of something hitting the floor made him wince. 

“It’s okay Sam,” Alice said as she kicked the duffel bag out of her way. “It’s just me.”

She slipped two Tylenol between his teeth and drew salt lines in the room. “I’ll be back in two minutes. You move off that bed, you’ll be riding in the trunk for the rest of the trip,” she said as she headed toward the shower. 

Sam listened to the water and tried to quell the pounding in his head. 

“Did you miss me?” 

Sam squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head as though he could dislodge the voice in his head. “You’re not real.”

“Keep telling yourself that,” Dean snapped as he sat down next to Sam. 

“Go away Dean.”

“Sam, talking to your delusions makes them more real,” Alice said as she walked back into the room, toweling her hair dry. “Don’t engage whatever it is you’re seeing. You know better.”

Dean scoffed and turned back to Sam. “What if I’m the real deal, Sam? What if she’s the hallucination?”

Sam rolled his head to the side, glancing from Dean to Alice. Sweat burned his eyes as he squinted up at Dean. 

“Not sure, are you?” Dean smiled cruelly and patted Sam’s shoulder. 

Alice half closed the bathroom door and left the light on before hopping on the bed closest the door. “Get some sleep.”

The darkness made everything worse. He could hear the air conditioner in the window but the air seemed stifling, smothering him. Sam laid on the bed listening to Alice’s breathing from across the room. She wasn’t asleep. 

“Alice, I need my flask,” Sam begged as another wave of nausea overcame him. He could feel the tension in his chest, in his whole body; he could barely get a word out. 

“Sam, I’m not giving you the flask,” she mumbled from her bed. “Get some rest.”

Sam whimpered as muscle spasms tore through his arms and legs. He knew this part. It was going to get worse. “Please Alice,” he begged through gritted teeth. 

“Sam, detox isn’t easy. Trust me, if you had picked something normal, like booze or drugs, I’d have signed you into a nice rehab facility. But you picked goddamn demon blood. There ain’t no way to soften it. You’re going to go through hell. I can give you some pain meds or sedate you.”

He choked back another request for his flask. He knew she wasn’t going to give in. She and Dean had been cut from the same cloth. Sam took another shaky breath and let it out slowly. He was going to have to breathe through the pain. He also knew nothing was going to take the edge off except for more blood. 

He listened as Alice’s breathing slowed down until she had fallen asleep. He watched through tear filled eyes as Dean paced the room, occasionally leaning down to whisper something terrifying into his ear. He fought the exhaustion that threatened to pull him into restless slumber; he knew only nightmares awaited him. He took one shaky breath after another, trying to ignore Dean as he fought to stay awake. 

Sam woke with a start. He hadn’t even realized he had fallen asleep. He looked around the room, trying to figure out what had woken him up. In the dim light, Sam could see Alice on the other bed, still asleep. He flinched as a shadow crossed the room. He rolled onto his side and came face to face with Dean. “Ready for some fun, Sammy?” 

Hours later, Alice woke to a peculiar sound. She frowned as she scanned the dimly lit room. “Sam?”

In the faint light, she could see Sam wasn’t on the other bed anymore. She flipped on the lamp and gasped. Sam was pinned to the ceiling. His face was frozen in terror as he met her eyes. Sweat dripped from his fevered skin onto the bed below. He tried to call out but he couldn’t. 

“SAM!”

At the sound of her voice, he fell like a stone and hit the bed below. Alice grabbed at him as he was suddenly thrown toward the far wall, unable to stop himself as he slipped into the more violent stage of withdrawal. He didn’t remember this from last time, but he had heard Dean and Bobby talk about it once or twice. 

Alice grabbed at him again, this time shoving him violently to the floor and kneeling on his chest in efforts to pin him down. Their eyes met for a second before Sam was violent pulled from her grip and flung across the room again. Alice fell to the floor and came to rest next to her duffel bag. She hesitated only a second before grabbing it and rifling through the contents. 

“I hope we live to regret this,” she yelled as her pulled the flask from the bag. It was surprisingly hot in her hand. She eyed Sam, this time pinned to the bathroom door. As quickly as she could, she spun the cap loose and headed for him. His jaw was tight and his eyes were fear-filled as she did her best to pin him to the door while she forced the flask between his lips. 

His eyes opened wide in surprise at the taste. He caught a glimpse of the scowl on Alice’s face but he was relieved; anything to make the withdrawal stop. The tremors, the fever, the delusions, being tossed around like a demonic rag doll: it was too much for him. 

She pulled the flask away; he fought to keep it, his mouth trying to follow it as it left. “Sam, that’s enough!”

Sam tried to step after her, yanking her back toward him by her arm. “I need it.”

“That’s enough,” she growled as she landed a sharp slap across his face. 

Startled, he slowly slid down the wall and onto the floor as tremors coursed through him. He could still feel the desire, the need, but he could also feel the twinge of relief. It had been enough to take the edge off, but he wasn’t going to bounce back soon. 

Alice knelt in front of him and caught his eye. “Is that enough to keep you off the ceiling?”

He shrugged tiredly. “I don’t know…”

She sighed in frustration and laid a hand on his forehead before frowning again. “Your fever has gone up again.”

He didn’t answer her. It wasn’t a question. They both knew it. He felt like a fire had been lit under his skin; he was burning up from the inside out. He rolled his head toward her and tried to look at her through the sweat that was pouring out of him. “Tub?”

“Yeah, you’re going in the tub.” 

He laid on the floor and listened to the water filling the tub. 

“Looks like a good time to make a break for it,” Dean whispered to him. 

Sam’s eyes slid open. Alice had gone for ice. He could leave. Find a demon. Quell his thirst. 

“I thought you were going to save me,” Dean snapped from across the room as he opened the motel room door. Sam shivered at the burst of cold air that filled the room. He couldn’t stop shivering. “Look at you now. You’re hopeless. I’m better off on my own!”

Sam struggled to climb to his feet. “Dean, wait—“

“No, Sam. I’m done waiting for you. I’m burning down there and you’re just sitting on your ass,” Dean said as he stepped out the door. 

“Come back Dean! Come back!”

“SAM! Stop! Look at me,” someone yelled into his ear. 

Sam jumped as he felt something shake him. “Open your eyes!” Sam fought against hands that grabbed at him, pushing them away. He opened his eyes and suddenly Dean was gone. The room was gone. He was in the tub, ice and water covering him. “Look at me!”

He looked up, shivering uncontrollably, and locked eyes with Alice. Her hands tightly held his wrists as she tried to keep him still. Even with the water and ice, he could still feel the heat of the fever that ate at him. 

“Are you with me,” Alice asked firmly. 

He glanced beyond her, looking for Dean. He was gone. Sam let out a shaky sigh of relief as he tried to shake off Dean’s words. 

“Yeah…I’m with you.”

She leaned against the wall and slid down into a kneeling position. “You sure? Because you passed out on the floor out there. I had to drag your ass in here.”

Sam tried to speak through chattering teeth. “Sorry—“

“Don’t be sorry Sam,” she said as she pulled the flask from her pocket. He eyed it as she set it on the edge of the tub between them. “It’s empty now.”

He felt his heart skip a beat. It was the last he had. And now it was gone. Even if Alice wasn’t there to stop him, there was no way he could catch a demon and drain it. He was to far gone. 

“That’s it then,” he said, fighting his chattering teeth. 

She nodded. “Yeah.”

“You think I’m going to die?” he asked as he tried to shift under the weight of the ice. 

She looked at him and tried to keep her face neutral. He looked awful. 

“I don’t know Sam.” 

They sat there for a long time, not talking; each lost in their own thoughts. The room was silent except for the occasional sound of the ice shifting in the bathtub. Sam’s eyes burned and itched until he closed them. “Where do you think Dean is?”

Alice slowly pulled herself out of her own thoughts and looked at him. “I don’t know.”

“Do you think demons lie?”

“I don’t know that either Sam.”

He rolled his head on the tiled wall and squinted at her through his blurred vision. “A demon told me Dean isn’t in Hell.”

She frowned at his words and leaned forward. “Say that again.”

Sam fought to keep his eyes open as darkness crept into his vision. “A demon told me that Dean’s not in the pit.”

Alice put a hand on his forehead, he was still burning hot. He was delusional, but that didn’t mean he was lying. 

“Alice…where is he?”

“I don’t know Sam. But I’m going to find out,” she said as she pulled herself from the floor. She didn’t want to go down this road but Sam wasn’t going to survive if she didn’t. She picked up the flask and turned to him, but didn’t look at him. “But first, maybe we should see about keeping you alive.”

Sam frowned through the haze that had settled over him, he wasn’t even shivering anymore. “You said it’s empty.”

“It is. But we can fix that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I know there was a lot of bouncing around from place to place, character to character, but seriously people, I’m trying to align the pieces on the board for a grand finish. Bear with me. 
> 
> And thanks to all of you who have reviewed! I’ll be continuing to use reviewer names to finish up one shot characters. Thanks!


	29. Shelf Life

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for following on this story. It’s definitely gotten much larger than I had originally planned. Can you believe this crazy adventure started from a single word prompt!?   
> Alice has been whispering in my ear ever since rain started pounding on the roof three days ago. The tornado warnings?? Yeah, she loved that. Spent the last two nights reading In the Fold and Where Is My Mind chapter by chapter, backwards. She wants to save Sam and she’s ready to make a deal.

Jefferson City, Missouri   
Alice scanned the parking lot from inside the doorway again. She didn’t know why she was; it wasn’t like she was waiting for a car to drive up. She chalked it up to habit and checked the dusty clock on the wall. It had been thirteen minutes. She wasn’t sure how long to wait before giving up and throwing Sam into the car. Except that she couldn’t risk it. Not after what had happened earlier. 

She could hear Sam in the other room, painfully calling her name. She hurried back to the bathroom doorway and looked inside. He was trying to claw his way out of the water, tightly gripping the edges of the worn tub. The ice had long melted but he was still shivering his way through the fever. It had lessened but not abated. 

“This is a bad idea,” he said as she stepped into view. “I can wait. Let’s just get to Bobby’s. Please…”

“No, you can’t wait,” Alice snapped. “And yes, this is probably the stupidest idea I have ever had. But it’s the only one we’ve got.”

“No plan B, huh?”

“Nope, just this one. So suck it up, buttercup.”

He looked away from her, trying to force himself to find the strength to just stand but couldn’t. He was done. The demon blood was going to win. He was going to die before he could figure out where Dean’s soul was. He had failed. The physical pain was immense, but the shame of having someone witness this, his deepest failure, was hard. Last time he had gone down this road to addiction Dean had been angry and Bobby had been pissed. Those things he knew how to handle, but Alice—she was just plain annoyed. If it hadn’t been for this weakness in him, they would be barreling down the interstate to find Dean’s missing soul. 

The last bit of demon blood in the flask had been enough to lessen the withdrawal but he could feel it, ready to spike again at any minute. The delusion that was Dean would be back soon; Sam couldn’t imagine what he would say this time. Each time his words were more terrifying and more believable. Sam needed more demon blood to function on his own and Alice wasn’t willing to leave him alone while she went hunting to find one. 

“We can just go find a demon. I can tell you what I do and you can just do it. We can do this on our own,” Sam begged again. “I’ll be okay in the car.”

He watched as Alice slowly shook her head, even as her harsh gaze softened. He tried once more, seizing what he hoped was a weakness. “Please Alice. I won’t run! I’ll stay in the car! I swear….”

“Sam, trust me,” she muttered as she ran a hand over her tired face. “I wish we were on the road, headed to Bobby’s. But I can’t put you in the car if you’re going to start getting tossed around like a rag dog again. And I can’t get you out of the tub, you’re still boiling. You’d be under ice right now but the damn ice machine broke. And to be honest, Sam…I can’t trust you right now. You’re an addict. You’ll say anything you think you need to.” She watched Sam’s grip on the tub loosened as his face fell. She swallowed back the tone in her voice; it wasn’t helping going to help anyone. “Don’t worry about it. We’ll figure something out if he doesn’t show.”

“He’s not going to help us,” Sam whispered as he leaned back against the tiled wall, his eyes closing in exhaustion. “He’s not coming.”

“Oh, I summoned his ass. He’d better show up,” Alice snapped as she checked her phone. It had been nearly twenty minutes. 

“He doesn’t do freebies and we don’t have anything he wants,” Sam said through chattering teeth. 

Alice shook her head without thinking. “Then we’ll find something he wants. But slaughtering all those crossroad demons didn’t really help your chances any either.”

Sam could hear something in her voice, disappointment maybe. Irritation, definitely. He swallowed the lump in his throat and forced the words out. “So what do you think the demon meant about Dean’s soul?”

Alice turned away slowly. She wanted to take her time and think it over, maybe even talk it over with Bobby before she gave any opinion to Sam. “I’m not sure…but I know we’re going to look into it. But first things first, we have to get you back to Bobby’s. Dry you out…make sure you’re okay. Then we sort out the demon gossip.”

Before Sam could respond to her comment, someone cleared their throat in the other room. “You rang?”

Alice spun around and closed the bathroom door behind her, hoping to block Crowley’s view of Sam. 

“I need a favor,” Alice said with a grimace. 

“I don’t do favors. Ask anyone.”

“Then what about a deal,” Alice offered. 

Crowley frowned and crossed his arms over his chest. “I retrieved my scroll. Your red pen handiwork may impede any future deals we may have had.”

Alice smiled. “So you’re saying that a little graffiti ruined any hopes of future business? You’re a business man. You can’t afford to be pissed off by everyone’s opinion.”

“That wasn’t your opinion drawn all over Lucifer’s signature,” Crowley spewed angrily. He turned around and straightened his suit jacket, forcing himself to calm down. Anger made for hasty decisions. He needed to be cunning, not hasty. “Besides, I seem to recall you saying that we wouldn’t have a business relationship, ever. And yet here you are, summoning me for a favor.”

“So I spoke to soon. What’s it going to take to make a deal?”

Crowley glanced around the motel room; his distaste for it was obvious. “This place is awful. It suits you though.”

“Did you come here to shoot the shit all night or can we talk business,” Alice snapped. She could exchange insults all night but Sam had needs and a very short shelf life. 

“What do you need?”

Alice held out the flask between them. “Demon blood.”

It was Crowley’s turn to smirk. He had seen this coming. “So this is it then? Moose ran out of the good stuff and now he needs saving?”

“Something like that,” Alice admitted. “I can either ask for it nicely or you can lose another cross roads demon. I’m going to get the blood from somewhere.”

“So why bother calling me? Why not just go find a demon and deal with it? Why bother to ask me?”

“Convenience. I don’t have time to hunt down a demon while Sam needs a baby sitter,” Alice said with a grimace. “I was hoping that you might take our asking, rather than outright killing as some sort of professional courtesy.”

“Coming from you that means very little.” 

“If you’re not willing to make me deal, can you at least point me toward the closest demon?”

“There’s another cross roads demon a hundred miles from here. He might make it there if you hurry but I wouldn’t count on getting any of the red stuff.” 

“Why not,” Alice asked worriedly. 

“I can’t just have cross road demons getting slaughtered every time Sam wants a taste of the good stuff. It’s wasteful! Do you have any idea how much training goes into a cross roads demon,” Crowley mused as he slowly moved toward the open motel room door. 

“Probably none?”

Crowley shrugged. “Maybe not, it’s an assumption on my part. But that’s not the point! Consider yourself blackballed from all crossroad deals. No one will show up, simple as that.”

Alice felt her temper flare. This was an unforeseen problem that could kill Sam. “He’ll die without it.”

“And?”

“And I’m willing to make a deal, right now, with you.”

Crowley turned slowly on his heel and looked curiously at her. “What are you offering me? What have you brought along to trade with? Your soul is off limits, so what exactly do you want to give me for a pint of the good ol’ demon juice?”

“What do you want?” 

Crowley paused. “Information.”

Alice laughed. “Information is worth more than demon blood and you know it! Sweeten the pot.”

“Fine. I’ll assume you have some questions of your own that need answering,” Crowley mused as he slowly paced the room. “We swap answers. A question for a question. I get five questions and you get four. At the end, I’ll see about sating Sam’s blood thirst. Seem fair?”

“Coming from the King of Hell, it seems a little too fair,” Alice said. 

Crowley turned on his heel, considering how to ask the questions without tipping his hand. “Why is Sam killing demons?”

Alice’s eyes narrowed. She wasn’t going to give more information than required. “He’s binging for demon blood. Hence he’s killing them to get it. My turn; I want to know if demons lie.”

“Sarcasm. That’s my love language,” Crowley said with his most charming smile. “We demons rarely have to lie. The truth is always so much more damaging that a lie need be.”

“Do cross road demons lie?”

Crowley cleared his throat. “What about my next question?”

“Fine,” Alice snapped. She was getting worried about Sam. She couldn’t hear any noise from the other room. 

“How have you come to be…whatever is it you are,” Crowley asked with a vague gesture at her. 

Alice swallowed her anger and rolled her shoulders, wishing she had any other way to play this game. “A curse.”

“And how does—“

“Uh uh,” she snapped, shaking her finger at him. “My turn.” 

He scowled and gestured at her. “Proceed.”

“Do cross road demons lie? I want a firm yes or no answer.”

Crowley paused. He was nearly certain what she was playing at. He knew what Sam had been after. “No. They’re all business and contracts. That takes integrity.”

“Sounds like bullshit to me,” Alice muttered with a scowl. “Fine. You’re turn.”

“Do you know where Dean Winchester is?”

Alice considered the answer. She had seen him die. She had watched his pyre. She had his bones in a hex box in the car. But Crowley already knew Dean was dead. If it hadn’t been for Sam’s little bathtub confession she wouldn’t have hesitated to answer but circumstances had changed. Across the room, Crowley cleared his throat. “Looking for a good answer? Would you like to phone a friend?”

She rolled her eyes. “Dean Winchester is dead. You already knew that. Why waste the question?”

“Is that really your question?”

Alice paused, watching his face. “Yes. Why would you waste the question on something you already know?”

He sighed and scowled at her. “Because Sam’s been hunting Dean, even as he knows Dean is dead. My turn….do you know where Dean’s soul is?”

Alice turned and faced him, scrutinizing him. “This would be easier if we could just compare notes on what we both know...To answer your question, no, I don’t know where his soul is.”

Crowley’s expression didn’t betray his puzzlement. “Last question for you. Use it wisely.”

Alice considered her question carefully. He was obviously one step ahead of her. She crossed her arms and stared at him. She needed to get as much information as possible in one last question. “Where is Dean not?”

Crowley turned on his heel. “I can see why the boys needed you. You’re not stupid—”

“Your answer please,” Alice demanded. “And remember, good little demons don’t lie.”

Crowley scowled and considered leaving Sam to die. “He’s not in Hell. Or Heaven. Or anywhere on Earth I can see.”

“How did you check Heaven?” Alice asked curiously. 

“Your part of the game is over, sweetheart. You don’t have any questions left. Now, for my last question...how exactly did Bobby take ownership of your soul?” 

Alice turned and crossed her arms defensively over her chest. “Some ritual he found carved in some saint’s leg bone. It hurt like a bitch when he did it. Still does. The soul stays with me, but he has ownership of it.”

“Interesting.”

“And this,” Alice said as she held out the flask. 

“Where is he?”

Alice turned and opened the door behind her. She moved to the side, allowing Sam to come into view. He was nearly as white as the stained tile. His fever bright eyes were lined with dark lines; she couldn’t even guess how long it had been since Sam had gotten real sleep. Probably not since before Dean had died. 

“Are you sure he’s alive,” Crowley asked. “He looks dreadful.”

At the sound, Sam’s bloodshot eyes seemed to focus on them. He stared at Alice and Crowley in the doorway, not saying anything as they continued to talk. He slowly tried to pull himself into a sitting position in the tub, his movements made more awkward by his still bound hands. Crowley walked over and leaned down. “Got yourself in a royal mess this time Moose.”

Sam pulled back from Crowley and looked hesitantly at Alice. 

“So how long before you to get the flask filled and back to me,” Alice asked, ignoring Sam’s behavior. 

Crowley held out his hand. “I’ll need a knife.”

“What for,” Alice asked suspiciously. 

“For my own reasons,” Crowley growled back.

Alice frowned and sighed deeply before digging her pocket knife out. She watched as Crowley leaned down and grabbed Sam’s hand. Sam tried to pull away weakly but couldn’t; Crowley’s grip was iron clad. 

“What the hell are you doing,” Alice exclaimed as Crowley jabbed Sam’s thumb with the blade.

“Paying my debt,” Crowley snapped as he brought the blade to his mouth. 

Alice watched in fascinated horror as Crowley tasted the blood. “What the f—“

“I see the Amish upbringing has begun to wear off,” Crowley dryly stated as he shook his head and dabbed the bitter blood from his mouth. “One flask full isn’t going to fix him.”

“What did you do,” Sam slurred, pulled his still bleeding hand away from Crowley. He didn’t feel any worse, but he was far from alright. 

“Had to know how far you’d gone,” Crowley said as he stepped back from the tub where Sam still sat in the cool water. “And you, Sam, are nearly around the bend. You’ve more demon blood than human at this point.”

“Look, I don’t want him supercharged. Just alive and not imminently dying,” Alice explained. “Just enough to—“

“How many demon blood addicts have you seen in your lifetime,” Crowley sneered. “I’m perhaps a little more apt to determine how much he needs to survive. I take it that is what you want—for him to survive, yes?”

“No shit,” Alice snapped even as a shiver crept up her spine. 

“Well, you’re too late. He’s gone a bit too far this time. One whole flask would keep him breathing for maybe another few hours if he’s lucky.”

“So just get him a whole demon,” Alice shouted as she took a step toward him. 

Crowley didn’t budge as she stepped closer. “A full demon might get him up and even passable for normal, if he didn’t do anything stupid like try to use any demon fueled powers. But even then, that would only last for a short time.”

“So what are you saying? What’s it going to take to get him back on his feet?”

“I’m saying that his Winchester luck has finally run out! A demon a day wouldn’t keep him alive for more than a week. He’s done. Not worth the bloodshed at this point. Might as well do him a favor and mercy kill him here,” Crowley said as he stared down at Sam. “Sorry Moose. But this time, you’re stupidity finally caught up with you.”

Alice felt herself getting angry and forced her hands to her side. “I want you to pay up and get me that flask full of goddamn demon blood. You owe me that.”

Sam slowly turned his head toward Alice. “Don’t, Alice. Just do it…”

“SHUT UP, SAM!” she shouted before turning to look down at him. It made her cringe, how awful he looked sitting there. She could imagine what John would have said, disappointment at how she had failed to save not one, but both of his sons. 

“I’m done.” Sam stared up at her, a faint shrug all he could manage. “It’s over.” Maybe it was his fever, or maybe it was the delusions beginning again, but the usually faint red in her eye was beginning to burn bright like fire. He remembered when he had first noticed it, back when he had worked with her to save Dean from the Wendigo, back when he had first gone toe to toe with her. “Go home Alice.”

“I told Bobby I was bringing you back and that’s what I’m going to do.”

Crowley turned back to Alice. “Stubbornness won’t save him… Didn’t save Dean either, did it?”

Without a thought, Alice landed a sharp slap across his face. She felt herself flush, heat rising from her skin. She leaned close to Crowley, her eyes locked on Sam, as she whispered in Crowley’s ear. “I don’t have much else to offer, or bargain with. But what I do have is all of eternity to ruin your every goddamn day. I might not can kill you, but I can make you miserable. Starting with letting all your followers know that you struck a deal that promised to help the very Winchester that has been killing them. Think of all those cross road demons you helped send to their very permanent deaths. Even a king has to be loyal to his subjects, especially when in Hell.”

“I’ll get the blood, and you and I will settle this later,” Crowley hissed. 

“Good,” Alice snapped. “So how are we going to do this?”

“You can use a knife, although that creates a lot of waste,” Crowley asked. 

Alice practically growled at him. “I meant where is the damn demon we’re getting blood from?”

You’re looking at him.”

“NO,” Sam cried out, trying to rise from the water. “Not you…”

He didn’t get far before Alice pushed him back into the water. “You can’t be serious,” Alice snapped at Crowley as she placing herself between them. “You’re not giving Sam your blood! Demon blood is bad enough, but—”

“But what? Can you afford to be picky? I didn’t realize you had options aplenty,” Crowley snapped.

“Just get me some random demon! I don’t want your blood in him,” Alice exclaimed. 

“I can’t just drain one of my men to help a Winchester. I am not going to play into your hand and let that rumor get out. We wagered blood, you never specified whose blood it was to be.”

Alice tiredly ran her hands over her face. She was playing with fire. Hellfire, no less. Bobby was going to kill her. But probably not until she finished digging her own grave. 

“You want blood or not? I have a schedule to keep.”

Alice glanced over at Sam. He was staring at her. “Sam, you with me? You want to help make this decision?”

His eyes flicked from Crowley to Alice. She leaned down to get eye level with him. “Sam, I know you’re in a shitload of pain. This isn’t what I wanted for you, but this may be the only thing I can offer you. You heard what Crowley said. You aren’t going to make it to Bobby’s without demon blood.”

He took a shaky breath and locked eyes with her. Her expression was guarded but he could see the determination in her eyes. She wanted him to say yes, she expected him to say yes, but she also wanted him to make this decision for himself. 

“Do you want it?” She stared at him, all but nodding as she asked the question.

Sam hated himself as his situation seemed to worsen. He desperately wanted to say yes. But of any demon out there he could feed his addiction from Crowley would have been the last one he would have picked. Sam knew Alice would get him just enough to keep him alive, not enough to hunt for Dean. He was stuck between misery and death. If Dean could only see him now. He would be so disappointed.

“Sam, I need you to choose,” Alice said, drawing his attention back to her. 

“I won’t lie to you Sam, it’s going to hurt like nothing you’ve had before. But you’re about to die anyhow,” Crowley mused aloud as he turned the pocket knife in his hand. “So…do you want to die now? Or later, after more excruciating pain? You could ask your friend here to mercy kill you. Or you could ask me to save you…”

“Shut up, Crowley,” Alice snapped before turning to back Sam. “I need you to decide.”

Sam tried to think past the pain but it was difficult. The ringing in his ears had returned, as well as the pounding headache. His bones burned with every movement and the lukewarm water in the tub felt like fire licking at his skin. But even with Crowley’s blood, he was just delaying the inevitable. Whether it was in some random motel’s bathtub or Bobby’s panic room, he was going to die. He bit his lip until he tasted his own blood and turned away from Alice. “I can’t.”

Alice hung her head and shook it. “Then I will,” she said as she held the flask up to Crowley. “Fill ‘er up.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ve got the next chapter underway. I just need Castiel to speak to me.   
> He’s being a little shit.   
> Angels are dick.   
> Even on Christmas.


	30. Go Ask Alice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for hanging in there while this story gets written. I looked back to see the timestamps and realized just how much has changed in my life since this story started. I've enjoyed every chapter, every review, and every twist and turn in the story.

Sioux Falls, South Dakota

Bobby glanced at the clock hanging precariously on the wall of the cellar. It was nearly time for Jenn to call him back with instructions for what they hoped would cure Sam. He brushed the sawdust from the top of the box and took a deep breath. The wood was rough under his hand, splinters pricking his palm as he ran a hand over the lid. He wasn't sure what Jenn's instructions were going to be but he knew the box had to be strong. After much consideration, he had used cypress. Its dense grain made it strong and heavy. Whatever was going to happen, he needed to know the box could contain Sam in all his demon blood glory.

Bobby slowly dragged the box between the two cots, into the center of the panic room. He took a step back and looked at it. It was as close to Sam's height and width as Bobby could guess. The less room Sam had to struggle the better it was bound to be. He knew it was just another tool, like any of the hundred they had custom made for a specific job, but its appearance turned his stomach.

It was a coffin; he had built a damn coffin.

All it needed now was a body.

He hurried up the steps when the phone rang, plucking the phone from its cradle. "What?"

"Is your old fax machine still plugged in? Check it for the instructions."

They didn't waste time with small talk anymore, not when they were working. He and Jenn had worked together off and on a few times over the years. Nowadays she was busy with her kids and some drawn out hunt for a skin walker somewhere within the higher ranks of her day job.

He headed for the dust covered fax machine that perched at the end of the counter. Few people had the number for it anymore and the list got smaller every year. Email had changed everything in just a few years. "So you and Eleanor Dearhart agree this is going to work, right," Bobby asked as he grabbed the pages off the machine. They were sketchy, he couldn't even remember the last time he had added ink to the machine.

"We agree this is probably the only option you have. Keep in mind though, this whole thing is new. People like us usually get to work with spells and incantations that have been around for ages. This is a very new interpretation of a very old idea. It could be bullshit, or it could be a damn nice cure for demon blood."

"So you're saying that if he dies, it ain't your fault," Bobby said gruffly as he flipped through the pages in his hands, scanning the list.

"Exactly. So I've sent you the sigil you're going to need to put on the box. Either burn it into the wood or carve it. Follow the instructions to invoke it and you should be good to go."

Bobby shook his head, readjusting the phone. "You're making this sound to easy. Makes me nervous. Am I going to need to restrain him or sedate him for this?"

Jenn cleared her throat and mumbled something Bobby couldn't quite hear. "What was that?"

She coughed into the phone. "We don't really have any reason to think this is going to be painful, but I can't imagine detoxing from demon blood is going to be all shits and giggles, no matter how it's done. So here's the kicker, that box is going to strip Sam of impurities. All of them. Narcotics, booze, whatever you want to fill him up with…I think the box is going to remove those too. Nothing is going to bring him any relief until it's done. And you might as well assume that it's going to make it worse before it gets any better, so I'd say restrain him if at all possible."

Bobby adjusted his cap and switched the phone to the other ear. "Well, there was the difficult part I was expecting to hear."

"Sorry Bobby. It's just a guess; maybe he'll get lucky and it'll be completely painless and quick," Jenn offered with forced enthusiasm.

Bobby frowned. "Don't sugar coat it. This is going to be hell and you know it."

"Yeah, probably. Did you build a box big enough for him?"

"Yeah…looks like a damn coffin. It's just deep enough for him to lie down in."

"The snugger, the better. Look—we can keep looking for another way. But I'm just not sure how long it might take and if Sam can wait for something else."

"No. This is it."

"Alright, well, if you need anything else, you know where to find me. Let me know how it goes."

"Sure thing, Jenn. Thanks for your help," Bobby said before he dropped the phone back into its cradle. The symbol wasn't all that complicated and the instructions to invoke it didn't look to difficult. He frowned at the simplicity of it. Nothing was ever as easy as a few words muttered over a wooden box. Like he had told Alice over the years, harnessing a symbol's power always came with a price.

Jefferson City, Missouri

Crowley sighed impatiently and looked up at Alice, studying her face. Her eyes were set on the syringe that was currently hanging from his arm; she didn't breathe as the syringe slowly filled.

He watched as she laid yet another blood filled syringe on the table, the ninth in a line-up of ten. "Do you always carry syringes in the car," Crowley asked as she plucked the tenth syringe up from the table.

"You don't even want to know what's in the Impala's trunk. So you think one an hour will keep him alive?"

"I think ten syringes get him about ten hours. After that, he'll be Hell bound faster than a derailed train full of Atheists."

Done with drawing blood from Crowley, Alice recapped the syringes and placed nine in her jacket pocket. The tenth one was still hot in her hand as she headed back toward the bathroom.

"What exactly is your plan," Crowley asked as he watched her.

"For what?"

"Ten hours gets you what exactly? You hunted him down and captured him, only to give into his addiction the second his well-earned demise crops up. Keeping him alive for another ten hours gets you what exactly? Why bother giving Sam what he wants, only to watch him die later? …Or maybe you're just enough like me to want to see him suffer… Or perhaps you're too weak and can't give him a quick exit from the pain."

"Killing him isn't mercy... its failure," Alice said with a firm shake of her head.

Crowley motioned to the syringe in her hand. "What you're about to inflict upon him isn't mercy either. Do what you will, but don't lie to yourself."

"I'll live with the guilt," Alice said with a flippant shrug.

"He won't. He's going to die. You can't save him now."

Alice smiled brazenly. "Who said anything about now? Thanks to you, I have ten hours to save him. Now get the hell out."

Sioux Falls, South Dakota

Castiel brushed the dust from his shoulder as he stepped into Bobby's panic room. He had checked everywhere and hadn't found a trace of Dean anywhere. He was beginning to wonder if Crowley had broken their agreement and interfered with the Winchesters despite his adamant claims. He needed to know if Crowley was planning to use Dean to manipulate their deal regarding purgatory.

"Where is Dean?"

Bobby jumped and spun around; he had been so bogged down in the work and worry that he hadn't heard anyone in the house. Blood trickled down his hand and dotted the wooden box between them. "Jesus Christ! Hasn't Dean ever taught you about sneaking up on people?"

"I can't find Dean, or I could ask him."

Bobby tossed the carving knife back down onto the wooden box and pinched the wound shut. Luckily it wasn't that deep. He needed to finish carving the sigil into the wood but cypress was dense and nearly impossible to carve with the tools he had available. All of the reasons he had chosen it to contain Sam was making it a real bitch to finish. "He's gone," Bobby snapped as he turned back to his work. "A few days ago."

"Where was he headed?"

"He's dead, Cas! He's gone," Bobby spat angrily.

Castiel watched Bobby turn back to the wooden box, resuming the carving. "How?"

Bobby paused for a moment and kept his back to Castiel. "The Fay kept taking him, or trying to. He got worn down, couldn't take it anymore. His body shut down. Least that's what Dr. Fisher said."

"Why did no one call for me?"

Bobby didn't turn around, he knew that one look at the angel and he'd start swinging. "Maybe because you're been too busy to help out around here anymore. Dammit Castiel, I had to summon you the last time we needed you and you barely stayed long enough to even hear what we had to say—"

"When did this happen?"

"A few days ago," Bobby snapped. "I thought you'd have realized it somehow. Dean wouldn't have wanted any more deals made on his behalf; I took the choice away from Sam by cremating him."

"But I've searched for him and found nothing. Not even remains," Castiel explained.

"His remains—"Bobby paused and cleared his throat, trying to push through the lump of emotion. "His remains are in a hex box at the moment, probably why you couldn't find them."

"I should be able to detect his soul, even in death." Castiel watched curiously as Bobby continued his work, not slowing down or looking up from his task.

"And?"

"I can not."

"What does that mean?"

"Neither Heaven or Hell hold him. Even in death I should be able to find him. His soul should be visible," Castiel said, puzzled.

Bobby tossed the knife down on the box and folded his arms over his chest, finally turning to look at the angel. "So let me get this straight. His soul is missing?"

"Yes. Souls always have a destination. I'm unsure why Dean's would be unaccounted for."

"Cas, if Heaven has started some bullshit again—"

"War is being waged in Heaven but I would have heard his name if he was there," Castiel stated.

"Then why can't you find him?"

"I'm unsure. Where are his remains?"

"Like I said, in a hex box. Alice Hilty is transporting them back here. She's bringing Sam back as well."

"What happened to Sam?"

Bobby scoffed. "Dean died. That's what happened to Sam. He ran off, went on a cross country demon killing spree, and started drinking demon blood again. Alice hunted him down and is dragging his sorry ass back here."

"Who is Alice?"

Bobby shook his head. "I forgot you don't know about her. She's an old friend of John Winchester; helped him out a few times back when the boys were just kids. Looked after the boys more than once."

"I've never heard them mentioned her."

"I'm sure that's how she wants it too," Bobby muttered as he wiped a few drops of blood from the wooden box, his finger still bleeding. He turned back to his carving. He wasn't sure what he had expected from Castiel, but him standing calmly in the corner with the news of Dean's death wasn't it.

Castiel continued to watch Bobby carve the sigil in the box. He had seen it before, a few centuries ago. He briefly wondered what Bobby would do with it before he turned his thoughts to Dean. He had died while Castiel had been busy waging war in Heaven. Why hadn't Dean called out to him? He hadn't heard Dean's voice. Not that he could have simply appeared; reorganizing Heaven was a feat not for the fainthearted. He needed allies. Ones he could trust with the news of his alliance with Crowley. He knew Dean wouldn't have agreed with it; which is why Castiel had taken to secrecy. It was important though, his making a partnership Crowley and gaining the necessary power to end the war in Heaven.

"What will you do about Dean's missing soul," Castiel asked impatiently. He had already checked everywhere he could; Bobby would have a plan.

"I'm not the one who thinks its missing," Bobby stated as he turned and glanced at Castiel. "Right now, I've got to work on saving Sam... Can't lose them both."

"And if you succeed in saving Sam?"

"Then I won't have failed them both!... That's what I'll have done," Bobby roared. "One of the Winchesters will have survived this life, that's all I'm hoping for at this point… You want to help? Go find out where Dean's soul is!"

Castiel's eyes narrowed. "I am needed in Heaven. There is a war being waged; legions have been slaughtered in the name of—"

"So why don't you just go set your sorry ass back up on that cloud and finish it, cause you're not needed here," Bobby thundered as he threw the knife down, his fists balled tightly. "Get out and let me save the only boy I've got left!"

Jefferson City, Missouri

"Sam, listen to me. This is going to help you," Alice said as soothingly as possible as she tried to keep the syringe out of his line of sight. She knew typically he had drunk demon blood from his flask but she was prepared to inject it he kept fighting her. Ever since Crowley has left and she had turned her attention to him, he had been fighting her about the blood. They were wasting time that Sam was rapidly running out of.

Sam shook his head miserably, adamantly, as he kept his eyes on her hands. "No, I don't want it." He tried to scoot farther away from her, but she had already pinned him between the wall and the toilet. She hadn't left him any room to escape.

"Sam, we're doing this. We can do this nicely, or you can get your ass whooped and take the blood anyhow. More or less bruises, that's what you get to decide right now."

Sam took a shaky breath, trying to slow the shaking that had returned to his hands. He wiped sweat from his eyes as his fever continued to rage. "If I'm going to die—"

"You're not going to die," Alice coaxed.

"Then let's just go to Bobby's," Sam countered pitifully. "I don't need the demon blood. I can do it."

"Sam, I know Bobby's working on a cure and I'm sure he'll have something sorted out by the time we get there. But in the meantime, you need this."

"What if he can't?" Sam was starting to panic as the pain tore at him. It was getting worse by the second. He felt like his skin was crawling with fire ants. Every noise, every sensation was becoming too much to bear. "What if Crowley's blood makes it worse? ... I can't take any more of this…look at me… "

Alice took a deep breath and let it out slowly. She was getting impatient. Taking a minute to study him, she shook her head in frustration. He looked like death warmed over. Dark lines circled his eyes; even his skin had taken on an unhealthy waxiness. She had no idea when he had last slept, or even eaten. Alice considered his words as he continued to beg. He was in pain, and surely the thought of even more unbearable pain was terrifying for him. "I don't know how Crowley's blood will affect you, Sam. But if we don't do this, you'll die."

"He said it's going to hurt! That it might—"

"He said it wasn't merciful to give it to you," Alice countered. "There's a difference."

"But that doesn't mean—." Sam's attention wavered as movement from the corner of his eye caught his attention. His breath caught in his throat as he watched Dean step into the bathroom doorway, his black eyes peering down at Sam. He leaned against the wall and smiled down at Sam as he folded his arms over his chest. "I told you, she's trying to kill you. She said you can't have any more demon blood, and now look at her. Making demon deals just to keep you filled to the gills with the stuff."

"Shut up, Dean," Sam murmured as another set of muscle spasms tore through his arms and legs.

It was barely more than a whisper but Alice heard it. She glanced around, knowing full well that only she and Sam were in the room. "Take the blood right now, Sam. If you're seeing Dean again, your withdrawal is about to get much worse; you'll start getting tossed around the room again. I can't do that again and I don't think you can either."

Dean stepped into the room and pointed a knife at Alice. "Taking help from a monster, Sammy? Thought I raised you better than that."

"Stop it!" Sam grabbed his head as the ache behind his eyes turned into white hot pain as his anger at Dean enveloped him.

Alice grabbed Sam and shook him. "Stop, Sam. Listen to me! Calm down."

"Maybe I'll kill her instead," Dean said with a laugh.

"SHUT UP," Sam yelled as the sound of shattering glass filled the room, drowning out his voice. Alice cringed. Sam was getting terribly close to the violent stage again. She had to get him to listen to her. She glanced up at him; he was looking past her at something only he could deal with. "He's not real, Sam. Don't look at him. Look at me. Listen to me!"

"Yeah, look at her, Sammy. She's going to gut you like a pig and toss you into the pit. She's working for Crowley now. Maybe she always has been…"

Alice watched helplessly as Sam's eyes tracked someone only he could see. She had no idea what Sam's delusion of Dean was saying, but from Sam's near panicked appearance she knew it wasn't good. "If you won't listen to me, I guess that only leaves your addiction to talk to," she muttered as she kneeled in front of him, one knee placed to block him and the other leg gently bent to prepare for a quick exit if he got violent. Watching his eyes to make sure he wasn't really paying attention to her, she grabbed his arm and slid the needle in without hesitation.

Halfway through emptying the syringe, Sam seemed to suddenly become aware of her. Their eyes met for a second before Sam seemed to realize what was happening. He shoved her away, kicking at her. "I said I didn't want—Alice…"

"Sam, what's wrong," she asked as she pushed herself up from the floor.

He was staring at the needle in his arm, overjoyed as the pain in his every fiber lessened somewhat but he was also horrified by what Alice had done. "I said—"

Alice waited for him to finish his sentence but instead he just stared at the half full syringe swaying in his arm with every breath he took. He could feel it working; racing through him. He closed his eyes and painfully chuckled in relief as the demon blood relieved the incredible pain that had been tearing him apart for hours. Crowley's blood was powerful. He felt the tremors slowing and the ringing in his ears fading away. The warm rush that enveloped him seemed to make his pain and surroundings fade into nothing.

The sound of someone clearing their throat pulled him from the near hypnotic trace of relief that had wrapped around him. Alice waved her hand in front of Sam's face once his eyes opened. She was simultaneously pleased and concerned at how quickly the blood had begun working. "Sam, are you okay?"

His mouth opened and closed without a word. Ignoring her, he turned his attention back to the needle that still hung from his arm. Alice watched in curious disgust as Sam finished emptying the syringe into his arm, his eyes screwed shut in euphoria. The syringe fell from his shaking hands as he leaned exhaustedly against the wall behind him.

"Sam? Sam," she called as she reached out to shake him. He didn't look much worse for wear but that didn't mean she was going to pretend they hadn't just injected demon blood into him.

"What," he muttered through the exhaustion that was creeping over him. He couldn't remember when he had last slept.

"How do you feel?"

A pained chuckle slipped out of his mouth as he fought to stay awake and upright. His arm flopped loosely as he gave her a sloppy thumbs up. "Better."

Alice didn't waste any time in securing his attention. "Want more?"

Sam's eyes slowly slid back open and fell upon the full syringe in her outstretched hand.

"Get in the car. You can have another one in an hour."

As the familiar feeling of fulfillment soothed more of the pain from his aching body, the vision of Dean faded from his vision. A shaky sigh of relief slipped from his mouth. Even a well fed addiction was painful, but this he could manage.

He stared at her, searching her face for any sign of a lie, not that it mattered. She planned on being in charge of every step of his painful detox, at least until she could dump him on Bobby's doorstep; or until he could find a way to ditch her somewhere. "Promise?"

She stared right back, wondering if Sam was capable of understanding how much worse Crowley's blood could make things, even if it kept him alive for the trip. She slipped the full syringe back into her pocket and held her hand out. "Pinky swear."

Somewhere Far, Far Away But Oh So Close

He didn't know where he was or how long he had sat there. Rain had pelted him since he had woken up, but without a rising sun he couldn't begin to know how long he had sat there. Mud caked his clothing and skin. A wet cough tore at his fevered lips, turning into a harsh rattle with every breath. The broken stump behind him offered no shelter from the weather nor did the heavy chain that held him to it.

Across the clearing the familiar shack was barely visible through the rain. Looking at it made his stomach turn, but he dreamed of the warmth it offered. Anything would have been warmer than the rain and mud. Another cough tore through him, interrupting the low whisper of words that had poured from his mouth in repetition since waking in the mud. "Don't eat. Don't drink. Wait for Sam."

His mantra continued until someone stepped in front of him and spat in his face. He didn't look up; he knew by now they didn't like that. A harsh blow to his face had taught him that lesson right before he had been chained to the tree. "Get up," the Fay said as it yanked the chain loose from the tree. "Move."

"Where—," Dean asked through chattering teeth as he tried to wade through the mud, the chain around his waist throwing him off balance.

The gray Fay pointed to a distant shack; one with a crooked chimney that bellowed black smoke into the stormy sky. Dean immediately pulled back on the chain. From the stump, he had watched men being led there for days, one at a time through the large doorway. The men never returned to their warm shack, but instead were piled, limp and unmoving, into a wagon that would later be pulled into the dark forest by a handful of large gray Fey. The wagon always disappeared into the trees full and returned empty.

Dean's struggling meant nothing to the Fay dragging him through the mud. He didn't have the strength to escape. The more Dean fought the more the Fay pulled, dragging Dean through the mud to the shack's doorway. Dean desperately grabbed the doorframe, looking for any way to keep from entering the building. The Fay cruelly swung the chain against him, tearing open a strip of flesh along his shoulder. "Walk."

Dean shook his head and held tight, fighting back a sob as the stench of sulfur and rot reached his nose. He wouldn't enter the room. He could feel immense heat pouring through the open doorway and as much as he was frozen from the rain, he had no desire to find out what was happening inside the shack.

The Fay laughed cruelly, making Dean shiver at the eerie sound. He raised a hand high over Dean and swung it down, breaking Dean's hold on the doorframe as his arm exploded in pain. He fell to his knees and cradled his arm. Before he could move, the Fay grabbed the chain and dragged him through the dark doorway. It glanced down at Dean and smiled a crooked, ugly smile. "You're the last one."

Interstate 29

Alice adjusted the mirror and tried to take a minute to appreciate being on the move again. The motel was hours behind them and she was anxious to get Sam into Bobby's capable hands. She tried to roll the tension out of her shoulders but it didn't do any good. Half dragging Sam to the car had all but torn out the last stitches from Bobby.

"As soon as you're fixed up, I'm taking a day off," Alice mumbled as she glanced over at Sam. He was in the front seat only because he had begged her, but she wasn't taking any chances; not when she didn't know how Crowley's blood would affect him. A handful of zip ties had secured his hands, and another three had secured him to the door. She knew he'd get out of handcuffs the second she took her eyes off him.

"You'd never take a day off," he murmured as he rolled his head toward her, rubbing sleep from his eyes. His fever had returned but he knew there wasn't anything they could do about it. "You don't know how."

"How are you feeling," Alice asked with a quick glance at him. He had slept like the dead for the last two hours.

"Better," he lied. The ache of the addiction was burning a hole right through him, gnawing at him like nothing he had ever known. He didn't know if it was worse because of Crowley's blood or because his fixes took so much pain away only for it to return in full force soon after. He needed another fix now, but there was no point in asking Alice for one; she was doling them out at exact hour increments.

"Good. And yes, I would take a day off," she replied as she adjusted the mirror again. "You think I live for this shit?"

Sam snorted and rolled his burning eyes. He glanced at her as he pulled against the zip ties that bound his hands. "Yeah, I think you do."

She frowned and shook her head. "Maybe….Nah, after all this crap I'd take a day off and go for a long walk. Find some place to swim maybe. Maybe spend a few hours in Bobby's garage. Finish the day at the drive-in theater. Stay til dawn watching the creature feature…"

"Sounds like a good plan," Sam murmured as a wave of nausea suddenly came over him. He needed a fix now. "You should do that…"

"If we survive this, we'll all go."

Sam nodded weakly and turned his gaze back out the window, pushing himself to breathe normally. If Alice suspected something was up, she might withhold his next fix. He didn't really feel like he was on the road to recovery, more like the road to his own pyre.

They road in silence for another hour while Sam slept restlessly; Alice didn't ask him how he felt, she could already guess. Aside from the fever, his hands were beginning to shake uncontrollably. With each syringe of demon blood the shaking would stop, only to return a short while later. And as each hour passed, the shaking started sooner.

Alice watched Sam watch the clock. She wasn't even sure if he was awake, or if he knew that he was awake. He seemed to be slipping away, into his head, more and more. She had mixed emotions about her own actions as well. She knew that giving Sam the demon blood was the only way to keep him alive, but watching him yearn for something that was killing him made her stomach turn. She knew the Winchester men were destined to desire the very things that would destroy them. It had already destroyed John.

She glanced at the clock and back at Sam's shaking hands. "You need me to stop?"

Sam followed her gaze to his hands. He tried to hide the difficulty of it, but he finally managed to lace his fingers together and tightly clench his hands into fists. The tremoring was getting worse. He needed more demon blood. "No."

"You want to tell me what it's like?"

"What," he asked, surprised.

"Crowley's blood. How is it different from any other demon's," Alice explained. "You feel more satisfied? Less, maybe? More powerful, or less?"

Sam squirmed at the question. It did feel different, but he couldn't explain how. Dean and Bobby hadn't ever asked him much about his demon blood addiction and other than feeding the need he didn't dwell on the specifics of the experience. Not since Ruby. He had enjoyed everything about those experiences. "I don't know," he admitted as he leaned his face against the cool window. "It's different I guess."

"How?"

He swallowed back the need to vomit as another wave of nausea overcame him. Something tickled the back of his mind; it was growing slowly but with every fix he received it grew larger. It was familiar. He could feel it, a slight influx of power that was beginning to burn through him. He wanted to concentrate on it, feel how much of him it had touched; Alice's talking was a distraction. He wanted her to just stop talking so he could figure out what was happening to him. "It just is."

Alice watched Sam pull again the restraints. He had been doing it more and more over the past half hour, even when he had been asleep. She glanced at the clock again. It was nearly time for his next fix. She shook her head, silently berating herself for not asking Crowley for anything more specific on how the blood would affect Sam. Not that Crowley had any reason to tell her.

"I need to call Bobby when we pull over," Alice grumbled as she glanced at the rest stop signs in the distance.

"Why," Sam asked, sudden worried Alice would decide to hold back his next fix. Bobby hadn't been a fan of his demon blood powers; there wasn't a chance in hell he'd be okay with Sam having more of it.

Alice didn't miss the sudden change in Sam's tone. Everything about him was starting to make her uncomfortable. Something was wrong, beyond the most obvious part of her feeding his addiction. She had missed something. Maybe Bobby could clue her in; it's not like she had ever given anyone demon blood before now.

"Well, we'll be there in a few hours. I should probably give him an update on how you're doing. I'm sure he'd appreciate it," Alice said as she pulled the Impala into a turning lane and headed toward a near empty rest stop.

"Does he know," Sam asked as he motioned toward the empty syringe on the seat between them.

"About the demon blood? Not yet. He's going to be pretty pissed. I might as well fess up about it now and give him time to cool off before we get there," Alice said as she pulled the car into a parking space and killed the engine.

"Are you really going to tell him," Sam asked suddenly, his tone accusatory. "About Crowley's blood?"

Alice turned and looked at him. "Yes, Sam. I am. You got any good reason why I shouldn't?

Sam held his tongue and turned his face away, trying to keep his sudden anger in check. Bobby would make Alice take the last few syringes away. She would listen to Bobby and Sam would end up in agonizing pain again. He shook his head slowly and subconsciously tested the restraints again. "It's time, right? It's been nearly an hour."

Alice checked the clock. "Not yet. Do you feel like you really need it?"

"Yes," Sam snapped. "Why? Are we running out?"

Alice didn't respond as the worry began to build. "Let me call Bobby and get that out of the way. Then we'll do it," Alice mumbled as she slid out car. "Sit tight."

"Where am I going to go," Sam asked loudly as she slammed the door behind her. His gaze instantly shifted to the full syringe she had left sitting on the dash. He glanced out the window and spotted Alice standing a few yards away with her back to him. From her body language, it looked like an argument with Bobby was brewing. Shifting his attention back to the syringe on the dash, he tried to concentrate on the power that was threatening to burn through him. This is what he had needed the whole time. If he had been drinking Crowley's blood, he could have made the cross road demons listen to him from the start.

The syringe shifted slightly on the dash as he concentrated on it. He needed this. He could almost taste it; the blood, and the power. If he could use it now, he could be free.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> …So...Dean isn't dead yet. But he looks kinda fucked at this point. Seriously, I never plan ahead so this whole scary shack of doom is news to me. I'm getting a Hell vibe, but I'm not sure how that's going to work out yet.
> 
> And Sam, Sam, Sam. What are we going to do with him? More importantly, what is Alice going to do with him? What's the worst that could happen after using Crowley's blood, right?
> 
> Thanks for reading! And for those that do, thanks for reviewing. I appreciate the feedback and input. You never know what influences the next chapter!


	31. Sweet Addiction

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This will be a short chapter, due to the breaks in scenery. I’ve already gotten the next one underway. Thanks for reading! Also, any thoughts on what Crowley’s blood may do to Sam? I’m open to ideas!

Onawa, Iowa 

Outside of the car, Alice waited patiently for Bobby to finish the ass chewing he had begun. “Say it one more time, because I know you would not call me and tell me that you gave Sam demon blood,” he yelled through the phone. 

While she was glad she hadn’t yet told him whose blood it had been, she was wishing she could take back her decision to call Bobby in the first place. Alice grumbled into the phone, “Would you have preferred it as a text message?”

“Look here, smartass—“

“Bobby, I have it on good authority that Sam won’t make the trip to you without it. I had to make a tough choice and I did what I thought was best. Isn’t that how you’ve been handling these situations for years?!” 

“And in all my years of making those decisions, I was never stupid enough to give anybody goddamn demon blood!”

Alice sighed and rocked on her boots. “Sam will be alive when we get there. Isn’t that the point? You wanted him back alive, right? This is the only way.”

Another grunt came through the phone. Alice could tell she was going to be in the doghouse whenever she got back to Sioux Falls. “You can yell at me later. Have you had any luck finding a way to cure him,” Alice asked as she glanced over her shoulder and looked back at Sam. He was still sitting in the car, staring at her through the windshield. 

“Alchemy.”

Alice frowned. “Alchemy? I don’t see how—“

“We have a theory,” Bobby muttered gruffly.

Alice paused and turned away from the car so Sam wouldn’t see her expression or lip read the conversation. “A theory!? I figured we had something a little more concrete than a goddamn theory, Bobby.”

“Well, genius, since there ain’t any records of anyone stupid enough to drink it, we don’t have a lot of options. Jenn and Eleanor Dearhart came up with a plan for us to try out.”

Alice shook her head slightly. She had heard of some the ‘cures’ those two had worked on before; they got results but only by treading into some seriously unknown territory. “Well, if I had to choose someone crazy enough to make a cure for demon blood, they’d be the ones I’d pick. How’s it going to work?”

“I’ve got the stuff for it. I just need you to drag Sam back here.”

“Yeah, about that….,” Alice said softly as she casually turned and surveyed the parking lot, spending a few extra seconds checking on Sam before she continued to slowly check their surroundings. He was still sitting there, staring at her. “What was he like last time this happened?”

“When?”

“When he went to Disney World,” Alice snapped sarcastically. “What do you think—when he was binging on demon blood!”

The phone went silent for a second before Bobby spoke. “He was determined; you couldn’t change his mind about what he was doing. He was convinced that what he was doing was right and we were in his way. He wasn’t the Sam you know.”

Alice glanced at the car again; he was still just sitting there staring at her, although this time he seemed to be smiling a little. “And how did his powers work? What were those like?”

“Alice, I’m not liking where this is going,” Bobby said, concerned. “What’s he doing?”

Turning away from Sam’s staring, she hesitated. “He keeps spacing out, like he’s concentrating on something else. Every time he does it, he fidgets and starts yanking on the restraints. He doesn’t seem to realize he’s doing it. Maybe it’s nothing…I’m just getting an uneasy feeling.”

“Or maybe that’s just your senses returning. You gave him demon blood, you idjit,” Bobby warned. 

“Or maybe the small amount I’m giving him is doing more than keeping him alive,” Alice said with a grimace. “Maybe it’s fueling some demonic powers I’m not capable of handling out here in the open.” 

“Where are you,” Bobby asked. 

“About two hours from you. Middle of nowhere rest stop.”

“A lot can happen in two hours,” Bobby exclaimed. “You better haul ass and get him here before the shit hits the fan.”

Alice turned back to the car, hoping that maybe Sam had just fallen asleep. She groaned when she saw the Impala’s door hanging open and Sam gone. “I think it just did.”

Fay Realm

Dean continued to struggle against the Fay that held the end of the chain still looped around him. Another blow across his back with the rough chain took him to his knees. “Stay,” the Fay ground out in its gravelly voice. 

Panicking from the pain and fear, Dean desperately looked around for anything he could use to escape. Not that he even knew where he was, or how to leave. Cold air blew in through the gaping doorway, offsetting the heat that seemed to be emanating from the door at the far end of the room. He shivered and tried to move back toward the open door. A firm yank on the chain left him gasping for air as he landed painfully on the rough floor. He coughed and choked as he lashed out at the Fay standing over him. A swat to his fevered head made him groan in pain. 

“Ever the troublemaker I see,” a clear voice rang out. 

Dean struggled to regain his footing, trying to see through the black spots that were moving in his vision. 

A tall Fay stepped in front of him, leaning down to be nearly eye level. This Fay was different from the rest of the filth that littered the place. This one was beautiful, not even a smudge of mud marred his ethereal appearance. Dean was surprised to see it and tried to recall the name Alice had told him. “Seelie…,” he mumbled as he stared up at the Fay. 

The tall Fay grabbed his jaw and lifted Dean until his bare feet barely brushed the ground. “Yes, I am Seelie, and you have caused my people undue embarrassment. Once marked as Teind, there is no place we can not find you. You will be delivered without any further delay.”

As he spoke, his hand closed tighter on Dean’s jaw until bruises began to blossom under his hand. “And to ensure this happens without any further unruliness, I am here to witness the transition.”

The Fay released Dean’s face and watched him fall to the floor. 

Dean wheezed as he tried to pull air into his deprived lungs. “Transition?”

The Fay stared down at him. “A Teind is sacred. We spend years looking for you. Only the most beautiful and deadly will do. We mark you and when the time comes, we gather you. We feed you, and in doing so you enter in a fantasy filled reverie that could last eternity. When the contract comes due—“

“You send us to Hell,” Dean spat from his place on the dirty floor. He couldn’t hold back the coughing that tore out of his lungs. He was freezing. 

The Fay’s expression changed. “Our contract was made with Lucifer, back on the very day God shut us out. We forged allegiances that would ensure our survival as the universe’s order changed.”

“And that meant tossing us humans in the Pit.”

“Do you know what would happen if Hell gained a Fay? It would be contorted into one of the darkest of Hell’s soldiers. We sacrifice you, for the sake of all others. Your sacrifice serves a greater purpose, far more than your human life would have done otherwise. We consider it to a great honor.”

Dean struggled to put his feet beneath him and slowly stood before the beautiful Fay. He waved a hand toward his own appearance. “Doesn’t feel like an honor. Feels like dying,” he coughed. 

“Your flesh is burdened by sickness but that is meaningless,” the Fay said, almost regretfully. “Your soul is all that is required by our contract with Lucifer. We provide only as the contract requires.”

Dean paused at his words, confused. He remembered seeing disembodied souls before; great balls of light that seemed to be impossible to contain. “You only give him the souls…So the bodies in the wagon…”

The Fay seemed pleased. “Yes. Future soldiers for our realm.”

Dean tried to hold back the cough that made his chest explode as the Fay leaned down and came face to face with him. “You were chosen by me. I had great plans for you, a capable general in our army. But with your deterioration I fear I shall have to find another.”

“But without a soul—“ 

“Without a soul, you’re perfect. Capable. Cunning. Fearless. The perfect soldier. You’ve seen those without souls. You feel repelled by them only because you feel the danger in them. Hell is a place of intangibility, a place for souls. There is no need for flesh in the pit.”

Dean wheezed and tried to slow his chattering teeth. “So Lucifer gets a soul, and you get to keep the meat suit? Is that it?”

The Fay smiled. “Waste not, want not.”

35.4700 N, 138.6197 E

“I want assurances that you’re not involved with Dean’s disappearance.”

“How many times do I have to say it? I couldn’t care less where the little shit has wandered off to,” Crowley said. “He’s probably off on a bender somewhere or shacked up with some waitress.”

“Those do sound like things he would enjoy,” Castiel stated. “But that doesn’t explain why I can’t find him.”

“I just figured that by now the boys had some way to keep off Heaven’s radar,” Crowley said as he turned and looked up at tree canopy. 

Castiel didn’t say anything. He know the Enochian symbols he had placed in their very bones did indeed hide them from prying eyes but if Bobby was right and he had died, Dean’s soul should be a burning beacon. “And your certain none of your lesser demons have interfered with the Winchesters? We have a deal.”

“And our deal still stands. How goes the war upstairs?”

“It’s endless.”

Onawa, Iowa 

Alice let the door of the rest stop’s bathroom slam behind her. Sam wasn’t in there. She had already scouted the entire area. He hadn’t broken loose to use the bathroom or pick up brochures on the local attractions. She headed back to the car and yanked the passenger side door open. The syringe from the dash was empty and had been jammed into the seat where Sam had been sitting only a short time before. 

She grabbed up the handful of zip ties and scrutinized them in the dim light. She grabbed her phone and called Bobby back. “I can’t find him,” she snapped as soon as he answered. “Looks like the zip ties were burned through, but I can’t imagine how he did that.”

“He’s resourceful and full of demon blood. He’s dangerous, Alice,” Bobby said. 

She stomped to the trunk and popped it open, looking for anything she could use to find him, or take him down. “Without more demon blood, he won’t last long,” she stated as she felt in her pocket for the last few of the blood filled syringes. “I’ve got to find him, Bobby.”

“He doesn’t want to be found,” Bobby snapped. “He’s on a mission. He wants to find and release Dean’s soul. Check and see if there is a crossroad demon anywhere near you.”

Holding back the urge to break something, Alice asked, “Yeah about that…some cross road bitch told Sam that Dean’s soul isn’t in Hell. If he really believes that, he might give up trying to make a deal for it. So what if he just makes a run for it? We might have a harder time finding him a second time.”

Bobby paused at her news and frowned as he paced the kitchen. “Cas told me he can’t find Dean’s soul either. What in the hell is going on?”

“Let’s sort out Dean’s soul after I find Sam,” Alice reminded him as she pulled a silver compass from her pocket. “Besides, I still have his bones in the hex box. We may need more help to figure all this out. Look, let’s say Sam believed the demon. Where would he go, if he knows he doesn’t need a crossroads demon?”

“You’re thinking too hard, Alice,” Bobby mumbled. “His addiction needs to be fully satiated before he can do anything else, and he knows it. He’ll go looking for more demon blood before he goes looking for a way to find Dean.”

Alice grabbed the map from the trunk and unfolded it, holding the phone in the crook of her neck. “I don’t see any crossroad demons close to us.”

“How far can he get on the blood he has,” Bobby asked. “Any way to know?”

“He might make it a little more than an hour. Hard to say…”

“Look at the map and see how far from your location he might get,” Bobby said as he moved to the map pinned on his wall. “You’re in Onawa….”

“Yep,” Alice mumbled as she stared at her own map. 

Bobby frowned at his map and adjusted his cap. He knew where he’d go if he was Sam. “Any chance he might get a little farther than an hour?”

Alice shrugged and adjusted the phone. “I suppose he might. Depends on how much demon juice he uses, if he hitchhikes or steals a car and how fast he drives…Why? Do you see something on the map that I’m not?”

“Yep. Some place he’ll go hog wild for. It’s got demons and if that weren’t enough, someone who loves to make deals. Someone who might actually be able to help him find Dean, for a price.”

Alice frowned and scanned the small area she had circled on the map. “Don’t mess with me, Singer. All I see is a few places he might find a random demon or two, if he’s lucky.”

“Think bigger,” Bobby said with a tinge of guarded disappointment in his voice. “I’ll leave now. You should too; maybe we can beat him there.”

“I’m still not seeing anything,” Alice snapped. 

“That’s cause you’re tired…look north from your position. It would take him a little more than an hour…but it would suit his needs.”

Following the original route she had planned out for them, she paused at the name Vermillion. Alice crumpled the map in her hands. “I’m going to kill that bitch!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Personally, I’m excited to see what happens when everyone descends upon Vermillion!! And Dean; Holy Shit!!! The Fay are more devious than I had planned. Now to find out how they get his soul out of his body. Let me know what you think, and don’t hesitate to leave me suggestions!!


	32. Let's Make a Deal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Note: Sorry for the delay. I started this some time ago, but some potentially terrible news made it impossible to focus enough to edit and finish it. Now that panic has worn off and I’m stuck waiting… I need to shift my attention back to something productive. My brain has to get its ass off the couch. So, here goes…

Vermillion, South Dakota

The Impala fishtailed as Alice maneuvered the off ramp. Bobby was a minute or two behind her, coming from the North. She wasn’t sure yet how they were going to get Sam to come with them; but they hadn’t come this close to a cure only to lose him now, even though she wanted to thrash him enough so he’d never forget it. 

She sped past a few flickering street lights and frowned as she cruised under them. She was getting close to the demon den. It didn’t matter that she had only been to the bar once before, she knew the way. She was tempted to grab a can of gasoline and burn it to the ground, just as she had threatened to the last time she had met Charlotte. 

High beams flashing in her rearview mirror told her Bobby had finally caught up to her. She pulled into the bar’s parking lot and killed the engine. She knew they needed a plan but she really just wanted to go in, grab Sam by his hair, and march him back out like a spoiled child. 

Bobby tapped on the window and motioned for her to get out of the car. 

“We need to have a plan before we go in after him,” Bobby said as soon as she opened the door. “He’s not going to come easily.”

“Anything we can use to bargain with him?”

“He’s not thinking right, Alice. He thinks he’s doing the right thing to save or find Dean. Hell, what the demon told him about Dean’s soul might even make him more determined to find him. It’s hard to think of Dean’s soul being in Hell…but for Sam, he knows what that means. He knows what that did to Dean the first time. But this…this not knowing where Dean’s soul might be; it’s probably worse for him.”

“Doesn’t matter what he’s feeling, Bobby,” Alice snapped as she yanked the trunk open. “He’s going to Sioux Falls, getting cured, and then we can all sit down and talk about finding Dean’s supposedly missing soul…I can’t believe he ran off!”

“I can,” Bobby muttered as he and Alice rifled through the trunk. “You haven’t ever seen his addiction before. Last time, he put Dean down hard and ran off; left his brother unconscious and bleeding in some hotel room. He’s not himself and he’s not thinking clearly.”

Alice gripped the edge of the trunk; she was angry. “So how do we get him back?”

Bobby tossed a knife back into the trunk in frustration. “By any means necessary, but we certainly need him alive if we’re going to try and cure him.”

“And if we can get him back, how do we transport him? Aside from the attitude, we’re going to have to deal with the addiction. His withdrawal left him being flung all over the place. Not exactly a prime candidate for riding shotgun.”

Bobby shrugged. “Hog tie him? Duct tape and a tarp? Break his legs? Drag him behind the Impala? I don’t really care what we do, so long as he gets back to the house.”

Alice’s eyes narrowed as she peered into the trunk. “He said Sam had more demon blood in him than human blood….,” she mused aloud. “Any chance that means a devils trap would hold him for a little while?”

Bobby crossed his arms over his chest. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“When I spoke with—the demon I got blood from, he said Sam had more demon blood in him than human blood. Technically he’s not a demon, but he is full of demon blood. So is there any chance we can throw him in here,” she asked as she pointed to the devil’s trap drawn inside the trunk. “Ever tried it?”

Bobby scratched at his beard. “I don’t know but we might as well try it… I’m more worried about how we’re going to catch him.” Bobby upended a bag in the trunk. “I brought all of the left over sedatives I could find. I don’t think we can get close enough to use them though. And even if we could, there’s no telling if they’d work.”

“What if we add the sedatives to something he wants,” Alice said as she pulled a full syringe of demon blood from her pocket. “He might not notice right away.”

“Alice, he’s got demons on tap in that bar,” Bobby snapped. “What’s going to make Sam want that?”

She glanced from the syringe to his face. Fear of losing Bobby’s trust couldn’t outweigh Sam’s life; sometimes the truth would do more damage than a thousand lies but you had to buck up and take the hit. She took a deep breath. “Because this isn’t just any demon blood. The demon back in the hotel…I summoned Crowley.”

Charlotte’s Web, Vermillion, South Dakota

He watched as the black smoke swirled on the ceiling, the demon desperate to descend back to Hell. A cruel smile flashed over his face before he reached out and forced the demon back into the body of the young woman before him. Biting into her sliced wrist gave him the rush he needed. He was powerful, far more so than he had ever been before. The hunger may have been satiated by the room full of possessed people, but the real power was Crowley’s blood. His powers had returned and with it, a coolness he hadn’t felt in some time. This was how he should have been hunting all those years. Not with a knife in his hand, but as the weapon he was.

Casting the bloodless body away from him, he looked around the room searching for any demon he had missed. Bodies littered the floor; one or two were still slumped over the bar. He grabbed a set of car keys off the floor and headed toward the main door. If he intended to keep his powers and find Dean, he needed to move on before Bobby or Alice found him. The news of a demon den slaughter would travel fast and the last thing he needed was a hunter hounding him. He was nearly to the door when he paused and slowly turned around. He cast a glance around the room while trying to spot the source of the sudden power he felt. Someone was alive; someone maybe more powerful than him. He spotted the light coming from under the door across the room. It was painted black, and while no sign indicated what he’d find, he could feel the power that lay behind it. He didn’t bother to wipe the blood from his mouth as he turned the handle and strode into the room. Incense lazily filled the room, making it difficult to see. 

“I know you’re here,” Sam said confidently. He couldn’t see anyone, but he knew he wasn’t alone. 

With a loud ‘snap’, candles flickered to life, illuminating the woman sitting across the room. “We’re closed.”

“Closed? The bar is definitely closed, but you—you look very much like you’re in business,” Sam said with a cocky smile. He could almost see the power rolling off her, but something was different about her. She wasn’t just some run of the mill demon. 

She folded her arms and stared up at him. She could feel the power pulsing through him, threatening to burn a hole right through his soul. Surely he wasn’t someone who needed a deal, but then he hadn’t killed her yet. Maybe she could talk her way out of her own death. “Demon blood; that’s an interesting choice for someone like you.”

Sam’s smile faded. “Like me?”

“Human, tainted but still human. Didn’t your momma ever tell you that demon blood will kill you?”

Sam stepped closer. “Shut up.”

“Did I touch on a sensitive spot, demon boy? Maybe we should talk about something else then.”

“I’m not here to talk. Or didn’t you get that message,” Sam said as he gestured to the open door, a lifeless body visible in the far room behind him. 

“The blood you’ve got burning you from the inside, that’s only going to last you so long,” Charlotte said knowingly as she gestured to the chair across the table. “I can see it, it’s burning bright, hot, and fast. It’ll fade and when it does, you’ll fade with it. Maybe you should be looking for a more permanent solution to quench that thirst.”

Glancing at the door behind him, Sam dropped into the chair. “How?”

Charlotte hadn’t missed the way he had checked the door. “Someone hunting you? Anyone I might know?”

“Maybe,” Sam said flippantly. “Bobby Singer. You know him?”

Charlotte settled deeper into her chair, considering how this could play out. If she helped Bobby’s target to escape, there was no way Bobby would leave her alive. But if she helped Bobby catch him, her reputation would be ruined. “I know Bobby. Maybe you should move on before he gets here.”

Sam glanced around the room. “So you’re her…. his Vermillion contact, huh? The one that shook my brother loose from the Fay? Charlotte, right?”

Charlotte stiffened slightly in her chair at the mention of the Fay. So this was one of John Winchester’s boys. She hadn’t had a Winchester in her den in a long time and hadn’t expected to again, not until her dying day. She also knew that no matter what he wanted, that no matter the reason he had chosen to darken her doorway, she wasn’t able to strike him a deal. No matter how tempting it may be. “I never expected a Winchester to be addicted to something as low as demon blood. Bobby must be so proud,” she jeered. “You’ll be disappointed to know that I can’t help you. No one can secure a deal with a Winchester, not these days.”

Sam’s anger made his skin flush as he reached out toward her, flexing his power and crushing her windpipe without even touching her. He watched as she began to choke and fight against his hold; he could feel the power in him not growing fainter with use, but stronger. He finally released her and smiled cruelly. “Then let’s find a way to the break those pesky rules, shall we?”

Vermillion, South Dakota

Bobby refused to look at her as she emptied the trunk; he would deal with her later. He wanted to yell, curse, and send her packing but right now he needed her right by his side; ready to keep another pain in the ass Winchester alive. He glanced up at the neon sign that illuminated the parking lot. For having so many cars in the parking lot, the bar sure was quiet. No music could be heard and the blind man who usually stood outside the door was nowhere to be seen. 

Bobby slipped the syringe that held Crowley’s blood back into his jacket pocket. There was no way he’d give Sam any more than he’d already had; if he died before they cured him, he’d die human at least. He grabbed an empty syringe from the first aid kit and held it out to Alice. “I’m going to need half a syringe full; we’ll mix it with the worst of the sedatives and just hope it slows him down enough for us to shove him into the trunk.”

Alice glanced at the syringe between them and went back to shifting hunting gear into the backseat, awkwardly shoving things past the crate of Dean’s bones. “You sure you don’t want to do it yourself? He’s already full of demon blood; we might not want to add phoenix blood into the mix.” 

“Can’t. Mine’s too human. He’ll catch onto us before we’ve even got a chance to fool him. We’ll have to take our chances and hope it doesn’t make it worse,” Bobby mumbled as he glanced toward the bar. The quiet was starting to wear on him. He knew they couldn’t rush right in, but he just wanted to get this over with. She grabbed the syringe from his hand before turning away and rolling up her sleeve. She yanked the cap off with her teeth and jammed it in before realizing how difficult drawing the plunger out would be with one hand. She stared at it for a second before turning back to Bobby.

Without a word he reached for the syringe and drew out the plunger, pulling it loose when it was half filled. He glanced up at her face and cleared his throat, holding her gaze as he spoke. “We’ll talk about everything later. Right now, we just go in and get Sam, got it?”

Alice nodded and turned away, rubbing at the sore spot in her arm. She may have been much older than Bobby, but this was his turf. She’d follow his lead anywhere.

Charlotte’s Web, Vermillion, South Dakota 

“I can’t secure you a deal. Certainly not when Crowley’s got a ban on Winchester deals these days,” Charlotte tried to explain. “Besides, you’d need a big payment for what you’re asking for, and quite frankly, you don’t have much to offer.”

“And what exactly are you offering,” Sam asked. 

“I can’t cure you—“

“I never said I was looking for a cure,” Sam snapped. “Do I look like I need a cure? I want one of two things—either you find my brother’s soul and give it to me, or you find a way that I can keep from needing to hunt down fresh demons every day. Those are the only things I’m willing to pay for.”

“And how will you pay for one of these?”

“My soul—“

“Your soul is a little too demonized at the moment to be worth anything,” Charlotte mused with a confident smile. “You’ll need something else.”

“I don’t have anything else,” Sam snapped. 

“To bad…,” she cooed as she smoothed her hair. 

Sam frowned. He glanced at the door behind him; he really needed to move on. 

“I could ask my boss…see if I can get you some sort of extension,” Charlotte offered with a twisted, optimistic smile. She didn’t know why Crowley had a ban on the Winchesters, but she figured he’d want to know that Sam had turned up at her door, on the run, full of demon blood. “Who knows, maybe he’ll be willing to make an exception for you.”

“How quick can he get here?”

Vermillion, South Dakota 

Alice pulled the door open and kept an eye behind them as Bobby eased through the open doorway, disappearing into the quiet building. They had finally decided on rock salt rounds, hoping that the nonlethal ammunition would save them from burying the last Winchester. She took a second to glance once more around the parking lot. It was eerily quiet outside. Moving silently through the door, she nearly bumped into Bobby. He was standing perfectly still, his gaze sweeping the room. She stopped in her tracks. The room that normally held all manner of sin, loud music, and mirth was now little more than a slaughterhouse. Bodies littered to the floor and bar; no pleas for help or even slight movement could be heard. She moved beside a young woman and used the toe of her boot to roll her over. Sulfur coated her mouth and nose, but it was the long, deep slice and teeth marks in her arm that made Alice’s stomach turn. 

Bobby motioned toward the plain black door on the far wall, a faint light shining from under it. Moving silently through the dim light, they kept their weapons up and moved toward the far door. Bobby eased the door open and surveyed the room before stepping inside the room. 

Once again he was reminded of how badly he hated incense. The low burning candles did nothing to illuminate the large room, but it didn’t matter. Sam was standing behind Charlotte’s chair, holding a knife to her throat. “Bobby, leave.”

Bobby didn’t lower his gun as he took a step closer. “Listen to me boy, you need to come with me.”

Sam tightened his grip on the knife and yanked Charlotte’s head back, exposing her throat. “I don’t want to hurt anyone, but I will.”

“Seems like you’ve already hurt plenty of people tonight Sam,” Bobby said as he took another step closer. “Put it down and let us help you.”

Anger flared through him. “Those were just demons! You can’t tell me that killing them was wrong!”

“Killing, no,” Bobby replied. “But draining the blood out of them, drinking it, fueling that darkness inside you, that’s not right and you know it! You’re killing yourself.”

“No! That’s where you’re wrong. I’m getting stronger. Now, walk back out that door and let me finish what I started.”

From her place outside the doorway, Alice listened to Sam’s words. Bobby had been right; she didn’t know this Sam. Raising the shotgun in her hand, she stepped into the room and stepped next to Bobby. “Sam, time to go.”

Sam laughed and clamped a hand tightly on Charlotte’s shoulder, pinning her in place under the knife. “I don’t think so. You can’t shoot me now, Alice; not after all you’ve done to help me.”

Alice frowned at his words and motioned toward the clock on the wall. “How long do you think these lower level demons will keep your addiction in check? How long before the shakes are back? How long before you need the good stuff?”

Sam shifted on his feet, glancing between the clock and Alice. “I can handle it.”

“Sure you can,” Alice said as she took a step towards him. She was getting angry and her patience was nearly gone. “That hunger…I’m sure it’s fine for now, but give it a few hours—you’ll be a crying, whining, pathetic little puddle of pain.”

“Jesus, Alice,” Bobby muttered as he glanced at her. 

She ignored him and took another step toward Sam. “And that hallucination of Dean? The one that told you to all those horrible lies? He’ll be back. He’ll be bigger, meaner, and this time you might not can shut him up!”

“I can handle it!” Everyone in the room cringed as he yelled. “Besides, with Charlotte here, I have a way to deal with all that.”

“Did you make a deal, Sam,” Alice asked. She shifted her attention to Charlotte, her eyes burning bright as she glared at the woman. “Did you help him?”

Charlotte didn’t move; she flinched as Sam held her tighter. She stared at Bobby, slightly shaking her head. 

“She will,” Sam snapped. 

“You think we’re going to just let you walk out of here,” Bobby exclaimed. “We’ve found a way to help you and you’re coming with us whether you want our help or not!”

Sam’s temper flared. “I didn’t ask for your help, Bobby! For once, listen to me! I can find Dean, and fix everything. You just have to leave. I can fix everything.”

Alice took another step toward Sam, but her eyes were locked on Charlotte. “I will kill this bitch before I let her make you a deal. Your soul is worth a lot more than whatever she’s offering you.”

“GET OUT!” The mirror on the wall shattered as Sam’s tempter flared. 

“Not a chance,” Bobby snapped. “Not unless you’re coming with us.”

Sam laughed and moved away, dragging Charlotte with him. “You want me to come with you? You sent Alice to hunt me down! That other hunter—she nearly blew my head off! I’m not going back.”

“Listen to me, Sam—“ Alice snapped as she took another step toward Sam. She knew she couldn’t stop Sam, but she wasn’t going to let Charlotte leave with him.

Sam’s hand shook as he raised it at Alice, silencing her with a mere glance and a closed fist. She tried to speak, only to find her words wouldn’t form. She coughed and choked as she tried to find the voice Sam had stifled by sheer demonic will. She stepped closer to Sam, leveling her weapon at Charlotte. With a flick of his hand, he threw Alice across the room and pulled Charlotte toward the door. “I’m done listening!”

Bobby shifted to block the door. “You can’t, Sam. I can’t let you leave.”

“I’m not asking for your permission!” Heat poured from his skin as the dark power mixed with his temper; he flung Bobby to the floor, landing in a pile near Alice. Dragging Charlotte from the room, he was halfway through the bar when Alice tackled him. Sam grabbed a handful of her red hair and slammed her head onto the hard floor. “I am not going back just so you can throw me in the panic room!”

Crying out in pain as her skull met the floor again, Alice lashed out at Sam. A firm backhand sent her back, blood in her mouth. Rage poured from her but still, she couldn’t speak. Sam seemed to understand and chuckled menacingly. “What? Cat got your tongue?”

Alice staggered to her feet and tried to see through the blurriness that was blinding her. Her head throbbed as blood trickled down the side of her face. He lashed out at Alice, sending her back to the floor. “You should have let me just die back in that bathtub! You could have just buried me too!”

Sam grabbed a handful of her hair once more and brought her head against the hard floor again. Blinded by his rage at Alice, he didn’t see Bobby coming up behind him. Bobby pulled the syringe from his pocket and grabbed Sam’s arm as it rose again to strike Alice. “Stop, Sam! You’ll kill her,” he yelled as he forcefully shoved the needle in and emptied it as Sam tried to displace it from his shoulder. Not bothering to remove the syringe, Bobby shoved Sam away and grabbed Alice. Propping Alice against the far wall and out of Sam’s reach, Bobby grabbed the shotgun from the floor as he headed back for Sam. He knew it would take a while for the sedatives to take effect, if they even would. It would be days before Sam would need more demon blood, given how much he had consumed in the bar. He couldn’t let Sam go now, if he got away, it could take weeks to catch him again.

He watched as Sam tried to reach the syringe that still hung from his shoulder. “You might as well give it up.”

Sam staggered toward the bar and grinned maliciously when Charlotte tried to dash from the bar to the door. He felt the power burn through him as he raised a hand and effortlessly pinned Charlotte to the wall. The power was intoxicating and painful at the same time. His skin was on fire and his head throbbed with the effort to keep Charlotte in place, and yet he had never felt more in control. His hand shook slightly as he approached Charlotte, her small frame pinned to the wall. He moved to her, and leaned against the wall next to her, catching her eye with a faint smirk. “I’ll take that deal now.”

“You still can’t pay for it,” Charlotte muttered sadly as she knew her words were her own death sentence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...next chapter in the works already. Cas isn’t speaking to me. Might have to make a deal.


	33. Give Me That Which I Desire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Note: What can I say? My word count sucks lately. My brain isn’t here. It’s waiting.

Vermillion, North Dakota

“Name a price,” Sam ground out through gritted teeth. “I’ll pay anything.”

“You’re not worth anything,” a voice called out from across the room. Before Sam could turn, he was slammed against the wall, unable to move. He fought the massive pressure that held him to wall. As he scrabbled against the wall he caught sight of someone behind him. 

Crowley moved into his vision and tutted his disapproval. “I knew you were on a bender, Sam. But this… this is bad for our friendship.”

He smiled as Sam’s eyes narrowed in anger. “So I get summoned by Charlotte to oversee a difficult deal and here I find you, and now it seems as though you’ve gone and slaughtered a bar full of my constituents and nearly killed one of my favorite girls—hardly the way to get a discount.”

Sam struggled against Crowley’s hold; he fought against the massive pressure until he managed to turn his head and smile menacingly at Crowley. With bloodied teeth he snarled at the demon. “I don’t need a deal to—“

With a small flick of Crowley’s hand, Sam slid further up the wall and was left hanging there, unable to touch the floor and barely able to breathe. “Shut up, moose. I’ll deal with you later.”

From across the room, Bobby cradled Alice’s head as he watched Crowley walk to Charlotte and pluck her from the floor. “Now, this is important, Charlotte…did you strike a deal with him?”

She didn’t look at him as she shook her head. “No, my king. He has your power. How can he—“

Without giving her an explanation, Crowley motioned for her to leave, but called her name as she neared the door. “Not a word of this to anyone, Charlotte… or you’ll be the one begging for a deal.”

She nodded her understanding before rushing out of sight. 

“Is this what my help was for? So you could lose Sam and let him run amuck with power? I told Alice to just let him die back in that motel room,” Crowley mused angrily as he surveyed the room and slowly walked to Bobby, who was still holding a wadded up shirt to the back of Alice’s head. The floor was covered in slick blood, and even as Bobby struggled to keep pressure on the wound the puddle under them grew. Alice was didn’t even wince as Bobby tried to move her; she was far too quiet for his liking. 

“Now might not be the time,” Bobby snapped without looking up. 

Crowley stopped at the edge of the bloody mess on the floor. “Anything to be done about this?” 

Bobby shook his head. He knew Alice’s skull was cracked, probably crushed by the repetitive hits it had taken to the concrete floor as Sam had lost his temper. He didn’t know how long it would take her to die, much less how long it would take the phoenix in her to burn through; he knew she wasn’t fighting to live, but to surpass the pain. He could feel her breathing getting more and more erratic and watched as her hands clenched and unclenched. If they didn’t leave before she died, they’d all be consumed by her fire. 

“We came to get him,” Bobby muttered as he glanced up at Sam, still pinned the wall. “We think we found a way to cure him.”

Crowley turned and watched as Sam continued to struggle before surveying the slaughter that filled the room. “Will it work?”

“That or kill him.”

“Good.” He didn’t miss the way Bobby glanced up at him. “You know as well as I that he can’t be allowed to roam free with that kind of power… My power.”

“He won’t. He’ll either be cured or he’ll die trying.”

Crowley turned and walked toward the door, stepping over bodies as he did. “I hope you plan on cleaning this mess up on your way out of town.”

Bobby glanced from Alice to Sam, still pinned to the wall. He couldn’t move Sam, clean up the mess, and deal with Alice at the moment. He only had two hands and there wasn’t any help nearby to call. He dropped his head and let a sigh loose. “I need help moving Sam. That syringe was mixed with sedatives but there’s no guarantee it’ll work with all that demon blood in him.”

Crowley slowly turned on his heel and frowned at Bobby. “Where exactly do you plan on putting him?”

“The trunk,” Bobby grunted as he motioned toward the doorway. “Hoping some of the hex marks inside might help hold him so I can drive him back to the yard.”

Crowley nodded slowly and turned back toward Sam. “Let’s get this done quickly then, shall we?”

Ten minutes later, Bobby slammed the Impala’s trunk closed with unnecessary force. He was ready to shake the evil out of Sam; the kid was smug with the raw power eating through him. He ignored the hateful words that seeped out of the trunk; Sam could yell all he wanted. Bobby was done listening to him. The meds hadn’t kicking in yet and Bobby was beginning to think they never would; he’d just have to pray the hex marks would continue to hold him. 

“And now for Alice,” Crowley said. “What will you do for her?”

“Probably only one thing I can do,” Bobby muttered as he headed back into the bar. He figured the easiest way was to just end her suffering. He kneeled next to her and gently shook her shoulder. “Alice, you awake?”

One eye was swollen shut, but the other cracked open a small sliver before she closed it back with a grunt. She slowly brought a hand to her head and gingerly tried to touch it. “Shit…,” she mumbled through the incredible pain and pressure that was mounting in her skull. Her vision was blurring and fading fast. 

“It’s going to get worse,” Bobby said. “Pretty damn sure your skull is cracked. I could take you to the hospital and try to let them repair the damage. You’ll have to do all the human things, like heal up over time... or there’s the alternative… You want me to call an ambulance?”

Alice responded with a wave of her hand, no. They both knew she wasn’t going to opt for that. A broken bone, sure; she could wait it out but a probable life threatening brain injury, no. She couldn’t risk dying in the ambulance or in surgery. 

“Or,” Bobby said with a sigh. “We could just put you out of your misery and let your nature takes it course. I can’t risk putting you in the car; if you spark in there we’ll all go up in flames... I’ll take Sam and get his ass in the box.”

Alice tried to think past the pain that was consuming her. They didn’t really have a choice; this was just his nice way of saying he had to leave her behind. 

“Once Sam’s in the box, I’ll head back and clean up this mess,” Bobby said with a small sigh. 

“I’ll do it,” Alice mumbled, her words were starting to slur. 

Bobby frowned at her words. “What?”

She reached out and pulled him closer, barely able to whisper the last few words. “Give me fuel, give me fire…”

Bobby slowly nodded his understanding and headed back to the car. He pushed past Crowley and yanked the Impala’s door open and began rifling through the gear on the backseat. He grabbed the can of gas and a lighter from the glove box. 

“What are you doing,” Crowley asked when he saw the gas can. 

“What you asked. Cleaning up this mess,” Bobby snapped as he spun the cap loose. He headed for Alice. 

“You don’t have to do this,” he told her as he rolled her onto her side, kneeling in the rapidly cooling blood that covered the floor. Her skin was already getting warm; regardless of if she wanted the lighter or not, the fire was coming. 

She didn’t say anything as she opened and closed her hand, waiting for the lighter. He carefully placed it in her bloody hand and wrapped her slick fingers around it. “I’ll honk the horn when I’m outside. Go whenever you’re ready.”

The smell of gasoline burned his nose as he walked around the room, dousing the bodies closest to Alice until the can was empty. He glanced back at her from the doorway. He felt ill as she held up the lighter in salute; unlike so many other fires, this one had been inflicted upon her. The curse had brought countless fires, pain, and loss; but this had been brought on all because Sam had lost his demonic temper and taken it out on her. Bobby knew he should be thankful that she had any means of surviving at all, but that didn’t lessen his anger with Sam. He had done enough research to know what she had lost; and what she lost every time she sparked. 

He gave a quick glance at the clock over the bar as he walked past. He didn’t know how long it would take for her to be back from the ashes this time, but he needed her. With a wave, he nodded at Alice and headed out the door. He leaned into the Impala and honked twice. Climbing into the car, he was surprised to see Crowley sitting in the passenger seat. 

Crowley scowled at Bobby, before glancing back to the bar. “I’ll ride along. This will have been for nothing if he escapes along the way.”

Inside the bar, Alice was struggling. Her hands were slick with blood and even though she knew fire was the best way to end her misery, she hated it. No matter how many times she had burned through over the years, it never got any easier. The pain never lessened and no amount of steeling herself for it ever managed to make it more tolerable. She knew Bobby was probably waiting to see the fire before leaving with Sam. He couldn’t risk walking back in now, even without the gasoline she knew the fire would tear through the building in seconds if her curse chose to show itself. 

She knew her body was failing. She had experienced death before, followed by the searing fire that would leave her to be rebuilt in the ashes. Most of the time, the fire came on its own with its own timeline; but every now and again, something went wrong. Like a hunt. Like Sam. 

Letting out a shaky sigh, she rolled her finger along the flint. “Goddammit, Sam…Going to kill you for this.”

Bobby was about to pull the Impala onto the road when he saw it in the rearview mirror. The flash of the flames in the early morning light was unmistakable. He hit the brakes as he adjusted the mirror. Glass flew from the windows as the fire engulfed the building, some part of him wanted to stay and see it through. Phoenix fire was wild, unpredictable, and eerily beautiful but he knew Alice wouldn’t appreciate him watching. It was what set her apart from them. It was what made her dangerous. 

Somewhere Elsewhere

Dean struggled against the Fay that held him, trying with his remaining strength to free himself. The ugly Fay twisted his arm, threatening to dislocate his shoulder, until Dean was forced to his knees. The beautiful Seelie towered over him. “Know that your sacrifice allows for the survival of my people. No Fay shall be cast into Hell and contorted into a First Demon. Never again shall such an abomination stalk the Earth.”

“Is that supposed to make dying easier,” Dean muttered around a chest rattling cough. “I’ll pass on this honor bullshit.”

“Enough!” The Seelie yelled. “Your permission is not required.”

Dean fell silent as he watched another Seelie enter the room, holding a clay vessel and a small box. He tried to raise high enough to see into it, but the ugly Unseelie twisted his arm tighter, forcing him down even lower. He fought to breathe in the position as another cough came. 

“What are you going to do? Cut my soul out?” Dean spat as he eyed the ornate box. 

“The soul is indeed intangible, a knife could not harm it,” the Seelie said. “But with the right words, your soul will become untethered from your body.”

He picked up the clay vessel and paused. “The others were not like you. They succumbed to the food offered to them and entered the dreams we made for them. They felt nothing, and will feel nothing. You fought every attempt we made to help your transition into your role as a Teind. Would you like to rethink this choice?”

Dean turned his head slightly in the Unseelie’s iron grip. “Are you seriously asking me if I want a fucking cookie right now?”

The Seelie’s mouth twisted into a sour frown. “Difficult to the end.” The gray Unseelie gripped him tighter, if possible, as the Seelie brought his hands to Dean’s face. 

“Wait!” Dean cried out. “…There is something I want...”

The Seelie smiled triumphantly. “Mercy?”

“Your name,” Dean ground out, letting out a shaky breath. “When I get out of this, I want to know who I’m coming for.”

The Seelie frowned and stood his full height. “My heavenly name was lost… One who performs this task is known as Læce.”

Dean repeated the name, rolling it around in his mouth and committing it to memory. “Where are the souls? The other ninety-nine?”

“Awaiting your soul to enter the vessel, to begin your Hell bound journey so the tithe may be received in full. Now, if you are done wasting precious time…”

“Just trying to run out the clock,” Dean wheezed out. “Can’t blame a guy for trying…”

“The soul can leave the body in so many ways…some even cast it out to walk freely and return to their flesh at their leisure. Others give it away. Some bind it into their body, never allowing them to ease into the next life.”

“Did you talk this much to the other guys? Cause I swear their bodies were being loaded faster than this.”

“Impatience is a human trait, unfit for a Seelie.” Læce frowned and leaned down until he was eye level with Dean. He grabbed his jaw tightly and forced Dean’s head back, staring into his eyes with such intensity that Dean couldn’t keep a shiver from racing up his spine. “Your soul is right there….burning bright…Windows to the soul, isn’t that what you humans say?”

Sioux Falls, South Dakota

Bobby none to gently hit the brakes as he pulled the Impala as close to the cellar door as he could manage; he didn’t care how banged up Sam got in the trunk. Everything had turned to shit and Bobby was the only one still standing to see it to the end. And to have Crowley helping with Sam was just another insult on the pile. 

He slammed the door behind him as he lumbered toward the trunk. He turned the keys in his hand as he eyed the trunk. Once he opened it, it was on Crowley to keep Sam from escaping. Or killing someone. 

Crowley stepped in front of the trunk and adjusted his suit. “Ready when you are.”

“And you’re sure you can hold him? There’s no guarantee the sedatives are going to slow him down.”

“He’s got a fraction of my power; whereas I am the King of Hell. I can hold him.”

Bobby turned the key in the lock and popped the trunk open before heading to the cellar doors. He didn’t stay to watch the interaction. He needed to get the doors cast open and the box into position. 

Crowley grabbed Sam’s arm as it swung into view, taking himself outside of the seal that Crowley himself couldn’t cross into. “Now, now, Sammy. Let’s get one thing straight…” Crowley used Sam’s arm to yank him upright in the trunk, bringing dark eyes into view. “You’re power…this little jaunt you’ve enjoyed thus far, is over. No more trouble, aye?”

“I’m going to—“ Sam swung his free arm and just brushed Crowley’s cheekbone before Crowley grabbed Sam’s arm and jerked him from the trunk effortlessly. He slammed Sam to his knees, his hands going to his shoulders. He dug his thumbs under Sam’s clavicles; he dug deeper as Sam tried to pull away. 

“You’ll do nothing.”

Sam’s black eyes stared up at Crowley, a twisted grin on his face. His teeth were still bloody from the bar. “I could hurt you. Maybe for the first time ever, I could actually hurt you.”

Crowley glanced at the cellar’s open doors as he shrugged. “And I could kill you. Right here, right now. Without anyone here to stop me. I’ll tell them you got loose. That it was the only way to stop you…you’ve caused enough trouble by now…I bet some part of Bobby would even be relieved to find your corpse out here. I could do it and not even leave a mark on you, blame the sedatives they gave you, say your heart must have given out.” He stepped closer to Sam, bending his head low and all but whispering in his ear. “You’ve caused the death of your dear friend Alice. Dean died and you can’t even stay out a demon bar long enough to find his missing soul. You want to do your last friend a favor? Don’t make him kill you—die in that damn box…go to Hell… and after you do that, I’ll put you to work for me…”

Sam’s twisted smile faded from his face, there was something else... a different sensation. Sweat burst across his skin as a burning heat seemed to pour from him. A searing pain tore through him, making him nearly double over even as Crowley held him firmly. He didn’t remember this from last time. He tried to push through the new pain. This wasn’t over yet. He still had a chance. He closed his eyes and felt the power burning in him. “I just want to find Dean,” he forced out. “I can still find him.”

Crowley chuckled in his ear. “Good intentions, Sam. How it always begins.”

He let go of Sam and took a step back, watching as Sam staggered to gain his balance. “You can walk into that cellar and hope like hell that Bobby can actually cure you, or you can run and I’ll strike you down and escort you to Hell right now.”

Sam fought the fog that was slowly creeping into his head. He knew something was wrong. He tried to take a step toward Crowley and swayed as his head spun. His fevered skin burned as he ran a hand over his face, wiping the sweat from his eyes. 

Sam looked from the open cellar door to the road. He could feel the power burning brighter in him. It threatened to consume him if he didn’t act soon but he could barely stand. He knew if he could get away he could hitchhike. He could find Dean. He could fix everything—or he could die trying.

From down in the cellar, Bobby waited impatiently. He started up the steps just as Sam appeared at the top, rolling ungraciously down the steep wooden steps. Bobby quickly moved out of the way; Sam just missed him as he sailed past. Sam rolled to a stop as he crashed into the wooden box Bobby had built. 

“Sam, you alright?” Bobby moved to help him but Crowley trudged past him.

Sam pulled himself to his knees. “Bobby—“

“Apparently, those sedatives are beginning to work after all…Don’t help him, he tried to run for it…let’s hope he broke something on the way down here; might slow him down a bit.” Crowley stalked past Bobby and grabbed Sam’s shirt, lifting him and dropping him unceremoniously into the box, even as Sam cried out in pain. Bobby hesitated, instinct was to check on the boys when they were hurt, but this was different. 

Ignoring Sam’s groaning, Bobby grabbed the heavy lid to the box and began dragging it into place. He had carefully drilled air holes throughout; he knew that Sam wasn’t going to suffocate but he would feel like he was. Most people weren’t claustrophobic until they made the harsh discovery that they actually were. Sam had a history of being restrained and this was going to prey upon all that old fear. 

Sam slowly opened his eyes and struggled to focus on the person standing over him. The edges of the wooden box filled his vision making his head spin, they were to close. He moved to sit up but a firm hand forced him back against the hard wood. “It’s the only way, Sam.”

Before he could say anything, a large board blocked out the light as it was firmly fitted into place. Sam instantly tried to push it away; it was resting just inches from his face. “Bobby! Let me out!” 

The board started to give way as he anxiously pushed against it. As he tipped it upward, he could see Bobby trying to steady the board with one hand, the other hand held a hammer. Sam felt himself begin to panic. He fought harder against the heavy plank, summoning the power inside of himself without even thinking to do so. As he pushed against the board, it flew past Bobby, forcing him to move back. Sam’s panicked chatter filled the room as he tried to pull himself from the box, he hurt everywhere. His skin burned like fire. “Bobby, don’t do this. I don’t need this—“

“You’ll die, Sam!”

“I can try—“

“NO!” Bobby yelled back. “Enough of the ‘I can do it by myself’ bull crap! Look around you, Sam…This mess, is because of you.” His voice lowered as he stepped closer to Sam. “You’ve done enough damage. It’s time to face the music.”

Bobby moved to push Sam back into the box; he felt the heat rolling off Sam before he even touched him. Without a word, Bobby pulled on Sam’s shirt to reveal the injection site on his shoulder. If the angry, red lines hadn’t appeared in such a perfect feathered pattern surrounding the site, he would have assumed the needle hadn’t been clean. But the needle was new and Sam had never been allergic to anything… “Phoenix blood,” he muttered to himself, remembering the concoction he had used. “Crap.”

He moved back from Sam and stared at him, considering what to do. Honestly, he hadn’t even given it any thought when he had asked Alice to conceal the sedatives in her own blood. He had just been concerned with fooling Sam. He glanced at Crowley who was staring curiously at the mark on Sam. He had to decide what to do. He didn’t how Phoenix blood would affect Sam but he had to assume the sudden fever was part of it. He needed to call Jenn. 

“What did you do,” Sam slurred as he shakily wiped sweat from his eyes. His hands were shaking and black spots seemed to fill his vision. He felt like he was on fire. 

Bobby shuffled his feet and folded his arms. “You were already hopped up on demon blood. We figured that our best shot to bring you back alive was sedatives. We knew you wouldn’t go for it, so we mixed it with blood to disguise it. Alice was hoping to convince you it was demon blood…we figured human blood wouldn’t fool you…so Alice used hers…”

For a moment, the men were silent. 

Bobby cleared his throat and turned back to Sam. “I don’t know what the Phoenix blood will do to you, but I do know the demon blood will kill you. It doesn’t change what we have to do.”

Fear crossed Sam’s face. He struggled to roll himself out of the box. He needed water. Ice. Anything to stave the heat. The idea of being trapped in a small box, on fire, was enough to make him panic. He fought the hands grabbing him and struggled to see through his blurry vision. Firm hands grabbed him and pushed him back into the box, scraping his arms on the rough wood. 

Bobby fought with Sam, trying to force him into the shallow box. He knew this was bad. The demon blood, the phoenix blood, the drugs, the panic…it was only a matter of time before Sam’s fear turned back into anger. 

Sam managed to get one leg hooked on the edge of the box and levered himself up, dizziness making him grip the edge of the box tightly. As a strong hand tried to pry his hand loose from the box, Sam lost it. His temper flared and without a thought he sent Bobby across the room. 

Crowley grabbed Sam and without mercy or care, shoved Sam back into the box. He grabbed the lid and shoved it in place. Bobby climbed to his feet and winced, he was getting to old for this. Seeing Crowley holding the lid firmly in place, Bobby grabbed the hammer and the box of nails. Sam was going to hate this part; hell, he was going to hate it too. 

Vermillion, South Dakota

The pain was unending and throughout. She could feel her bones breaking in the searing heat. It was hard for her to fathom, the variety of sensations that came with a body dying. She, herself, the very consciousness of who she was, didn’t burn away. Her senses were dulled, except for that of pain. She could barely make out the sound of the building collapsing around her, sparks filling the air. She just had to wait, to resist the urge to become feral from pain. 

Some part of her wished she could simply die with her flesh, be gone and never be made to endure this again. Another part of her wished for rain to curb the fire. Mostly, she just wished it was over. 

Somewhere Elsewhere

The Seelie ignored the pain filled cries as he again recited the ancient words. He had done this countless times but he couldn’t think of a single man who had endured it without having first entered the Fay dream state. He knew he could offer one of the wafers again; he could even force it upon him having the Unseelie to pry Dean’s mouth open. He knew it would render the man calm and compliant, but now…he truly wanted to see what his future soldier could endure. He had picked this man for good reasons and now he was close enough to see the defiance and determination for himself. If he could break him, his army would be better for it. A faint light began to seep from Dean’s eyes; Læce repeated the words faster and louder. It was nearly over. 

Dean’s cries became fearful and pain filled as he arched against the Unseelie’s iron grip and tried to twist from his grasp. He felt like he was being ripped in two. 

The Seelie squinted as the blinding light emerged from Dean’s eyes and mouth. He watched as the beautiful, blinding light gathered in a swirling mist that hovered inches from Dean’s face. Removing the lid from the clay vessel, he watched as Dean’s soul slowly flowed into the container. Dean’s cries lessened and finally ceased as the last of the light disappeared. 

Settling the stopper back into the vessel, he handed it to the other Seelie behind him. “Place this with the others. Send word that Lucifer’s tithe is ready. We meet at moonrise.”

As the Seelie disappeared from the shack with Dean’s soul, Læce turned back to Dean; he hung limply in the Unseelie’s grip, breathing but still. He grinned triumphantly as he reached out and touched the nape of Dean’s neck, leaving a small mark behind. “You’ll lead the men to victory.”

Dean bucked against his touch and without any warning the Seelie found himself face to face with the soulless man. Dean snarled and fought the Unseelie’s touch. Læce took a step back and opened the small box, pulling something familiar into view. 

“It’s unsettling, I’m sure. Your body is here, ready to fight without fear or regret. Your soul will awaken in Hell and be made to bear an eon of hardship. To endure two lifetimes is more than most men can withstand. That is why you and the others were chosen. You’re different.”

Dean’s savage gaze tracked the Seelie. 

“As much as I would release you and your army unto Hell this very night, we have more soldiers to gather. You’ll sleep until the horn of the Wild Hunt wakes you.” Læce stepped up to Dean and opened his hand. A small wafer sat in his hand, the sweet smell turning Dean’s stomach. Soulless and defiant, Dean spat at the Seelie. 

Læce backhanded Dean and spoke to the Unseelie that held Dean. “Open his mouth.” 

Rough hands pried his mouth open, the acrid taste of the filthy Fay’s hands made Dean gag. The Seelie slid the wafer between his lips and instructed the Unseelie to hold his mouth closed. 

“You won’t spit it out this time,” Læce said as he pulling something small from the box and held it up in the light. A gold needle and thread. The Unseelie held Dean’s jaw painfully tight as the beautiful Seelie stepped closer and touched Dean’s mouth. “Dream until you’re needed. Or you’ll be chained to that tree until the horn blows.”

Dean closed his eyes and tried to focus on the wafer that was slowly beginning to dissolve in his mouth. 

As Læce slowly pushed the needle into Dean’s flesh and pulled the gold thread through, he felt the satisfaction of having completed yet another tithe, preventing his people from the slaughter Lucifer had promised eons ago. Knotting the delicate thread, he glanced up and found Dean’s pained and hateful gaze following his every move. Læce smiled when Dean’s eyes faded to white. As he slumped in the Unseelie’s grasp, Læce pointed toward the door. “Put him with the others.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Note: This is getting more complicated. What the fuck are these characters doing?! I drag my ass through this chapter and they suddenly have all these plans and issues. This was supposed to be a hundred word prompt. So much for that!  
> Please leave a review with your thoughts. And how badly do we dislike Læce? I’m wondering if he’ll survive the end. 
> 
> BTW: Winjennster, I know you'll see this. I dreamed I was looking at Dean's MRI, as his confident doctor (not as his worried momma). I woke up with you on my mind and Lost and Found's name coming out of my mouth. Reading it, I rushed to the ending to see Dean be okay. I smiled. I cried. I loved. XOXO

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave a comment. I'd appreciate it!


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